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THE 


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MABY    L    SALTEK. 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


THE  LOST  RECEIPT; 


OB, 


FRUSTRATED    DESIGNS 


BY  MARY  J.  SALTER. 


BOSTON : 

WRIGHT  &  POTTER  PRINTING  COMPANY, 

18  POST  OFFICK  SQUARE. 

1881. 


PREFACE. 


In  presenting  this  book  to  the  public,  it  may  not  be  amiss 
to  assure  the  reader  that  it  is  founded  on  facts. 

The  heroine  of  this  story  still  exists ;  and  we  find 
such  instances  take  place  every  day  among  our  own  circle 
of  acquaintance.  In  the  ensuing  pages,  the  reader  will  find 
that  it  requires  a  pure  mind  and  a  true  and  noble  heart  to 
avoid  the  iniquities  and  temptations  that  are  spread  before 
us  ;  and  here  we  find  one  who  rejected  the  counsel  of  the  ser- 
pent, which  made  every  effort  to  tempt  her.  At  the  hour  of 
trial  she  was  not  crushed  by  the  overwhelming  grief  and 
difficulties  which  surrounded  her ;  but  took  her  place,  with 
firm  zeal,  in  the  field  of  industry ;  and,  after  many  impedi- 
ments, joy  crowned  her  labor. 

I  hope  the  reader  will  excuse  any  mistakes,  as  the  author 
is  deprived  of  the  most  useful  of  all  faculties,  that  of  eyesight. 

MARY  J.  SALTER. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I.  AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING, 7 

II.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS, 15 

III.  A  CLOSE  RESEMBLANCE, 22 

IV.  THE  HAUNTED  GLEN  VISITED, 29 

V.  A  BACKWARD  GLANCE, 36 

VI.  DOUBTS  AND  PERPLEXITIES, 43 

VII.  WHAT  TOM  BEATLY  SAW,        .       .       .  '    .       .        .50 

VIII.  PLANS  FOR  THE  FUTURE, 58 

IX.  THE  RESCUE, 62 

X.  HAMILTON'S  ENGAGEMENT,       .       .       .       .       .       .69 

XI.  WEDDING  BELLS, 79 

XII.  RETRIBUTION,     ..•••••••®) 

XIII.  CONCLUSION,       ...» 93 


THE  LOST  RECEIPT;  OR,  FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS 


CHAPTER  I. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING* 

IN  the  village  of  Rockwell  two  gentlemen  stood  waiting 
for  the  family  coach  of  Major  Sargeant ;  but  there  was 
no  trace  of  it.  Making  inquiries  at  the  station,  they 
were  informed  that  there  was  no  public  conveyance  by 
which  they  might  reach  their  destination.  At  the  sugges- 
tion of  his  friend,  one  of  the  gentlemen  took  a  letter  from 
his  pocket,  to  learn  from  its  contents,  if  they  had  mistaken 
the,  time  at  which  they  were  told  the  coach  would  arrive. 
Upon  reading  it,  he  discovered  that  they  were  three  hours 
ahead  of  the  time  stated.  Learning  that  Rosebank — the 
part  of  the  country  to  which  they  were  going — was  only 
two  miles  from  the  station,  they  concluded  that,  rather  than 
endure  three  hours  weariness  in  waiting,  they  would  walk  to 
Rosebank ;  and  while  the}'  are  leisurely  enjoying  the  walk, 
the  beautiful  scenery,  and  the  fresh,  bracing  air  of  the 
countr}',  we  will  take  the  privilege  of  following  them. 

One  is  tall  and  graceful,  with  an  aristocratic  bearing  and 
dignified  manner.  His  appearance  was  that  of  one  who 
knew  the  value  and  enjoyed  the  pleasures  this  world's  goods 
afforded  him.  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  as  favorably  on  his 
companion  ;  but  there  was  a  great  difference  in  their  looks 
and  manners.  He  was  low-sized,  rather  fleshy,  easy-going, 
almost  indolent ;  he  was  witty  and  good-natured,  and  deter- 


8  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

mined  to  trouble  himself  as  little  as  possible  about  anything. 
He  was  Walter  Seymour,  and  the  former  was  Hamilton 
Blayre. 

It  was  June  ;  and  during  this  month  the  country  is  beauti- 
ful with  a  peaceful  serenity  that  reminds  one  of  the  first  da}Ts 
man  spent  in  the  terrestrial  Paradise,  ere  Satan,  with  his 
wiles,  had  driven  him  forth  to  be  a  partner  of  sorrow  and 
shame. 

The  hills,  with  their  heath  and  purple  blossoms,  rose  in 
the  distance,  like  guardians  of  the  valleys  below  ;  cornfields 
and  green  meadows  stretched  far  away  on  either  side  ;  and 
the  breeze,  laden  with  the  odor  of  the  flowers,  was  refresh- 
ingty  sweet  to  the  weary,  city-sick  travellers. 

Walter  Seymour,  who  was  something  of  an  artist,  was 
delighted  with  the  pictures  which  Nature  presented  ;  he  was 
so  wrapt  in  contemplating  the  beauty  around,  that  he  ex- 
changed but  few  words  with  his  companion.  Coming  in 
sight  of  the  house,  Walter  declared  that  he  must  rest 
before  entering.  He  directed  his  steps  towards  an  old  oak, 
which  was  quite  familiar  to  him ;  for  in  earlier  years,  when 
he  visited  Rosebank  with  his  mother,  it  was  his  favorite 
haunt ;  he  passed  many  pleasant  hours  under  its  shade  dur- 
ing the  long  summer  afternoons  ;  on  this  account,  with  feel- 
ings of  the  highest  veneration  and  deepest  love,  he  had 
named  it  "  King  Charles."  "  By  Jove,  Hamilton,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  there's  '  King  Charles' ;  it  is  over  a  hundred  years 
old." 

Both  approached  it,  but  found  the  rude  bench  under  it 
occupied  by  a  young  lady,  deeply  interested  in  the  book  she 
was  reading.  Dreaming  of  no  interruption,  so  absorbed 
was  she  in  the  work  before  her,  that  she  did  not  hear  the 
footsteps  near  her.  Not  until  Walter  addressed  her,  was 
she  aware  of  the  presence  of  strangers.  Upon  seeing  them, 
she  looked  surprised,  but  recovering  herself  immediatel}", 
she  returned  his  salutation  with  a  quiet  assurance  and 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS-  S 

native  ease  which  captivated  the  heart  of  Walter  and  held 
it  completely  under  their  sway. 

"  We  are  on  our  way  to  Major  Sargeant's,  and  before 
going  further  would  like  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Walter. 

She  replied  that  they  might  remain,  and  immediately  made 
room  for  them  on  the  seat. 

"•  We  are  visiting  Rosebank  for  the  summer ;  are  yon 
acquainted  with  the  Sargeant  family?"  Walter  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  For  the  last  few  months  I  have 
been  living  in  Rockwell." 

"  Well,  if  you  have  been  pent  up  in  the  city  as  I  have,  it 
must  have  been  a  great  relief  of  both  mind  and  body  to  have 
left  it,  with  all  its  confusion,  behind." 

She  made  no  replv,  but  kept  her  eyes  steadily  fixed  in  a 
far-off  gaze  on  the  lovely  scene  before  her ;  and  her  whole 
soul  seemed  intent  on  some  hidden  thought  which  memory 
awakened.  Hamilton  Bla}'re,  all  this  time,  stood  quietly 
by,  much  amused  b}'  Walter's  air  and  manner  toward  the 
stranger.  Thinking  that  perhaps  they  were  intruding  upon 
the  time  and  attention  of  the  young  lady,  Hamilton  inti- 
mated that  the}*  had  better  renew  their  walk,  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  Major's  at  the  time  they  were  expected.  Walter 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  bowing  respectfully,  said  he  hoped  he 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her  again.  Both  gen- 
tlemen bid  her  a  pleasant  "  good  afternoon,"  to  which  she 
responded  by  a  bright  smile  and  low  inclination  of  her 
graceful  head. 

"By  Jove,  Hamilton,  a  pretty  girl,  isn't  she?  I  wonder 
who  she  is." 

•     "  Well,  I  expect  to  see  a  portrait  of  her  in  your  room  in 
a  few  days  ;  you  can  paint  it  from  memory,  I  am  sure." 

"  Now,  Hamilton,  don't  let  the  fiend  jealousy  take  pos- 
session of  your  manly  heart.  I  can  see  it  already  gleaming 
in  the  corner  of  your  left  eye ;  listen  to  my  warning  voice, 


10  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

and  curb  it  in  time,  for  you  are  harboring  a  dangerous 
enemy,  that  if  not  cast  out  will  prove  j'our  ruin  ;  and,  my 
boon  companion,  that  misfortune  would  bring  these  gray 
hairs  down  in  sorrow  to  the  tomb." 

Hamilton  Blayre  laughed  heartily  at  this  speech,  and 
advised  Walter  to  turn  his  brilliant  talents  and  overpower- 
ing ambition  towards  the  lecture-stand.  "  You  will  be  sure 
to  succeed,  Walter,  with  a  pretty  lad}7  for  your  theme,  and 
jealous}*,  like  a  demon,  waiting  for  his  prey  in  the  back- 
ground." 

They  had  now  reached  the  Major's  house,  and  upon  being 
announced,  they  found  that  they  were  not  expected  upon  the 
early  train  ;  and  this  caused  the  delay  in  the  carriage. 

"  We  preferred  to  walk,  said  Walter ;  "a  great  many 
natural  curiosities  awakened  our  interest,  and  we  gave  full 
scope  to  the  natural  enthusiasm  of  our  dispositions  ;  the 
only  difficulty  I  met  with  was,  that  I  was  obliged  to  stem 
the  ardor  of  Hamilton's  temperament  and  prevent  him  from 
falling  completely  in  love  with  a  female  form  we  met  on  our 
way.  I  conclude,  from  the  despair  of  his  countenance,  and 
the  slow,  solemn  tone  in  which  he  sighed, — 

'  Oh,  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour 
I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay,' 

• 
that  he  thought  she  would  approach  and  bless  him  by  a  few 

words  from  her  beautiful  lips." 

"  Vain,  indeed,  Walter,  would  such  a  hope  be  while  you 
were  my  companion,  for  if  the  young  lady  were  inclined  to  be 
communicative,  you  would  manage  the  responses  without 
my  friendly  help.  You  know,  Walter,  I  am  acquainted* 
with  the  brilliancy  of  your  conversational  powers  when 
addressing  young  ladies.  I  acknowledge  that  I  fail  in  that 
respect ;  but  your  weak  point  is  an  innocent,  impressionable 
heart." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  H 

"  Leave  the  discussion  now  until  another  time,  and  come 
to  my  studio,  I  have  some  beautiful  paintings  to  show  you," 
said  Millie  Sargeant,  Walter's  cousin. 

They  followed  her  into  a  large  room,  the  walls  of  which 
were  covered  with  beautiful  paintings.  Over  the  tables  were 
scattered  a  number  of  landscape  views.  Examining  some 
of  these  with  a  critical  eye,  Walter  was  struck  with  the 
delicacy  and  truthfulness  of  the  coloring,  the  clearness  of 
the  outline,  and  the  exquisiteness  of  the  finish. 

"Who  is  the  artist?"  he  asked,  looking  quizzically  at  his 
cousin. 

"A  young  person,  whose  acquaintance  you  shall  make  in 
a  short  time  ;  her  name  is  Nettie  Hazelton  ;  she  is  teaching 
me  drawing,  painting,  and  music." 

"  And  during  leisure  hours  she  preaches  etiquette,  I 
suppose." 

"  During  leisure  hours  she  is  much  better  engaged.  For- 
tunately we  are  a  pretty  well-behaved  family,  and  give  her 
no  occasion  to  preach  etiquette.  She  is  very  obliging, 
though,  and  no  doubt  would  be  willing  to  take  you  for  a 
pupil,  Walter." 

Hamilton  Blayre  suggested  that  he  had  better  try  the  force 
of  woman's  sway,  and  put  himself  under  the  guidance  of  the 
fair  directress. 

"  I  must  see  her  first,  and  judge  of  her  amiable  qualities, 
if  she  has  any.  I  have  a  horror  of  women  in  authority, 
since  an  old  nurse  of  mine  used  to  cun°  my  cars,  until  she 
completely  spoiled  their  shape,  and  compelled  me  to  learn, 
very  early  in  life,  that  '  Man  was  made  to  mourn.'  " 

Here  Mrs.  Sargeant  joined  them,  inquiring  if  they  were 
not  coming  to  the  parlor. 

They  descended,  and  saw  that  at  one  of  the  windows  was 
seated  a  person  whom  Walter  concluded  must  be  Millie's 
governess.  His  surmise  proved  correct,  when  Mrs.  Sargeant 
introduced  them  to  Miss  Nettie  Hazelton.  Mr.  Blayre 


12  TEE  LOST  RECEIPT;    OR, 

received  her  smile  of  recognition  with  his  usual  coldness 
and  dignity,  betraying  by  no  shade  of  surprise  or  pleasure, 
that  they  had  met  before.  But  upon  Walter  being  presented 
to  her  a  smile  of  rarest  enjoyment  overspread  his  counte- 
nance as  he  said,  after  her  greeting, — 

"  We  have  met  befoi'e,  so  it  is  only  a  renewal  of  acquaint- 
ance." 

"  You  have  met  Miss  Hazelton  before,  Walter ! "  Mrs. 
Sargeant  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Sarah,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  addressing 
a  few  words  to  Miss  Hazelton,  whom  I  found  under  the 
dear  old  shade  of '  King  Charles.' " 

Miss  Hazelton  explained  their  meeting  to  Mrs.  Sargeant 
and  Millie,  while  Walter  and  Hamilton  kept  their  e3'es  riveted 
upon  the  beautiful  face  of  the  speaker.  While  they  were 
talking,  dinner  was  announced.  Mr.  Seymour  offered  his 
arm  to  Miss  Hazelton,  and  Mr.  Blayre  and  Miss  Sargeant 
followed. 

Miss  Hazelton  was  about  twent}'-three  j'ears  old,  tall  and 
slight,  with  a  graceful  figure  ;  she  had  an  abundance  of  rich 
brown  hair,  combed  back  from  the  broad,  white  forhead, 
and  coiled  so  that  it  showed  the  small,  well-shaped  head  to 
advantage.  A  pair  of  large  gray  eyes,  brilliant  with  a  rare 
tenderness,  gave  the  calm,  pale  countenance  a  sweet, 
angelic  look. 

Miss  Sargeant  was  about  seventeen  years  old,  and  was 
what  many  would  term  pretty,  with  her  flaxen  hair  and 
clear  complexion ;  but  the  light  blue  eyes  were  dull  and 
sleepy-looking,  and  seemed  to  lack  intellect  and  character. 
She  had  never  been  a  bright  scholar,  but  under  the  teaching 
of  Miss  Hazelton  had  improved  wonderfully.  Millie  Sar- 
geant was  the  only  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sargeant,  and  all 
the  advantages  that  wealth  could  afford  were  at  her  disposal. 
They  had  never  succeeded  in  procuring  a  teacher  so  well 
calculated  to  urge  Millie  to  exertion  as  Miss  Hazelton. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  13 

The  dinner  passed  off  pleasantly ;  conversation  flowed 
freely,  and  all  seemed  desirous  of  making  themselves  agree- 
able and  entertaining. 

Major  Sargeant,  as  you  already  know  by  his  title,  was  a 
military  officer,  jovial,  good-humored,  and  fond  of  displaying 
his  hospitality  ;  not  ostentatious,  but  firmly  believing  that 
wealth  and  honor  meant  ease  and  comfort. 

Mrs.  Sargeant  was  a  tall,  well-shaped  woman,  whom  her 
daughter  greatly  resembled,  only  that  the  dullness  of  the 
mother's  eyes  seemed  softened  by  a  gentle  persuasiveness 
that  had  come  with  years. 

Walter  had  alwa3's  been  devotedly  attached  to  his  Aunt 
Sarah,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  single  instance  in  which  her 
advice  and  counsels  had  been  unheeded  by  him. 

Hamilton  Blayre  concluded  that  if  he  intended  to  enjoy 
his  visit,  he  must  reserve  his  dignity  and  stateliness  for 
Hamilton  Lodge.  Walter  declared  that  Hamilton  should  leave 
the  city  airs  behind,  and  "  when  in  Rome  do  as  Rome  does." 

The  day  being  warm  and  sultiy,  the  party,  after  dinner, 
repaired  to  the  veranda,  the  Major  taking  with  him  the 
papers  he  had  brought  from  the  city.  He  always  made  it  a 
point  to  read  after  dinner,  but  generally  found  that  the  land 
of  dreams  opened  for  him  a  larger  field  of  action  than  the 
columns  of  a  newspaper,  and,  like  all  sensible  people,  of 
course,  accepted  the  most  advantageous  offer. 

Mrs.  Sargeant  remained  behind  to  give  some  instructions 
to  the  servants  ;  the  four  young  people  were  therefore  left  to 
themselves. 

The  view  from  the  veranda  was  beautiful ;  the  sun  was 
still  bright  upon  the  hills  ;  the  sky  was  a  clear,  deep  blue  ; 
and  the  whole  country  lay  green  beneath  it,  quiet  and  calm 
under  the  holy  peace  of  heaven. 

"  The  solemnity  of  the  scene  has  had  its  influence  upon 
uncle,"  said  Walter ;  "  it  has  brought  him  '  nature's  sweet 
restorer.' " 


14  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

They  remained  out  of  doors  until  twilight ;  they  saw  the 
sun  set  in  beauty  and  glory ;  saw  him  sink  away  down 
behind  the  far-off  hills,  which  were  tinged  with  his  last, 
fading  beams.  The  sky  grew  overshadowed  ;  the  meadows 
seemed  a  darker  green,  the  flowers  less  bright ;  it  was  earth 
putting  on  her  mourning  robes  for  the  death  of  the  "  King 
of  Day."  So  the  sun  melted  away,  and  the  first  day  of  the 
Bummer's  pleasure  buried  itself  with  him. 

"  The  end  of  a  bright,  glad  day 

Closed  with  its  sunset  sky, 

Lolled  to  sleep  by  the  wind's 

Soft,  murmured  sigh ; 
Let  the  hearts  now  beating  there 
Ask  strength  in  lowly  prayer, 
For  tho  Future's  a  '  sealed  book,' 
Into  which  they  may  not  look." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  15 


CHAPTER  H. 

FIRST   IMPRESSIONS. 

THE  next  day  was  as  beautiful  as  the  preceding  one  had 
been.  The  morning  broke  clear  and  bright;  higher  and 
higher  the  sun  rose  in  the  heavens ;  wider  and  wider 
stretched  the  calm  blue  sky  under  its  kindly  sway,  and 
above  the  lonely  hills  and  over  the  quiet  meadows  its  beams 
glowed  with  intense  and  vivid  brightness. 

"Just  the  morning  for  a  walk,"  thought  Hamilton,  as  he  was 
about  replacing  the  curtain  he  had  withdrawn.  He  stopped 
suddenly,  as  he  saw  a  form  pass  over  the  green  lawn  beneath 
him.  He  knew  it  was  Miss  Hazelton  ;  he  saw  her  pluck  a 
rose  and  twine  it  in  the  silken  waves  of  her  rich  brown  hair. 
He  watched  her  pass  through  the  gate  and  turn  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  hills.  When  she  was  out  of  sight,  he  took  a  book 
from  the  table,  and  was  soon  engrossed  in  its  contents. 
Dickens  was  a  favorite  author  of  his,  and  he  was  agreeably 
surprised  to  meet  him  here.  Upon  opening  it  he  read,  in 
large  characters  on  the  title-page,  "  Great  Expectations." 
He  had  just  begun  the  fifth  chapter,  when  "Walter  positively 
screamed,  — 

"  Look  here,  3*011  book-worm ;  how  long  has  a  fellow  got 
to  sit  in  your  august  presence  before  }'ou  condescend  to 
notice  him?  Here  I  have  been  sitting,  in  the  most  stately 
decorum,  and  with  all  the  marks  of  good  breeding  have 
refrained  from  interrupting  you,  until  my  patience  has  been 
exhausted  and  my  spirits  crushed." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Seymour;  I  had  not  the  least 
suspicion  that  a  congenial  spirit  was  hovering  near.  May  I 


Jg  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

ask  how  long  you  have  been  feasting  your  eyes  upon  my 
noble  physiognomy  ? " 

"Well,"  said  Walter,  without  replying  to  his  question, 
"  you  often  puzzle  me,  Hamilton  ;  you  are  so  distant  towards 
strangers,  so  very  reserved  towards  ladies ;  and  yet,  with 
those  with  whom  you  are  well  acquainted,  you  are  the  most 
frank  and  sociable  fellow  in  existence  ;  and  to  say  the  least, 
you  are  '  a  man  after  my  own  heart.' " 

"  M}T  dear  fellow,  you  and  I  shall  never  disagree  as 
regards  the  difference  in  our  characters ;  perhaps  it  is  well 
that  we  are  not  alike.  There's  the  breakfast-bell ;  you  had 
better  prepare  to  behold  3'our  fair  enchantress." 

When  they  entered  the  dining-room  the  family  were 
assembled.  During  the  meal,  they  discussed  the  various 
pleasures  and  amusements  of  which  the}'  intended  to  avail 
themselves,  and  they  all  agreed  that  a  drive  through  the 
country  should  be  the  first. 

The  horses  were  ordered,  and  the  party  separated  to  pre- 
pare for  the  drive.  Mr.  Sargeant,  having  business  to  attend 
to,  declined  to  make  one  of  the  number,  and  Mrs.  Sargeant 
not  being  accustomed  to  early  drives  concluded  to  remain 
at  home. 

The  gentlemen  were,  of  course,  the  first  ready,  and  being 
obliged  to  wait  for  some  time  for  the  ladies,  they  expatiated 
upon  the  qualities  of  mind  and  person  of  teacher  and  pupil. 

"  Well,  Hamilton,  what  do  you  think  of  the  ladies  in 
whose  society  you  find  yourself  ?  " 

They  were  standing  under  the  porch,  Hamilton,  hat  in 
hand,  leaning  against  the  railing  which  surrounded  the 
balconj*,  and  Walter,  swinging  the  whip  as  if  he  intended  to 
use  it  upon  Hamilton  if  his  opinion  of  the  ladies  derogated 
at  all  from  his  own. 

"  Let  me  first  ask,  what  you  mean  to  do  with  that  whip ; 
you  flourish  it  too  demonstratively  for  my  peace  of  mind." 

"  I  see  that  my  intentions,  though  they  be  honorable,  are 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGXS.  17 

In  danger  of  being  misconstrued.  Give  your  opinion,  my 
boy;  nothing  shall  befall  you.  I  was  exercising  myself; 
'  merely  this,  and  nothing  more.'  " 

"  All  right,  then.  To  begin  with  your  cousin,  I  think  she 
is  pretty,  amiable,  and  lovable,  one  that  will  always  be 
happy,  and  one  that  is  capable  of  making  others  so  ;  but  I 
think  she  needs  character  and  energ}-.  She  would  be  easily- 
led  by  one  for  whom  she  entertained  feelings  of  affection  and 
love.  Of  course,  my  judgment  is  not  infallible  ;  you  have 
known  her  longer  than  I,  and  can  tell  whether  that  opinion  ia 
correct  or  not.  Miss  Hazelton  is  just  the  one  to  be  a  com- 
panion to  Miss  Sargeant ;  firm  and  steadfast  to  whatever 
purpose  she  may  undertake,  she  would  be  strict  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  truth  and  justice  at  the  cost  of  her  dearest  inter- 
ests ;  delicate,  educated,  and  refined  as  she  is,  her  influence, 
when  exerted,  must  be  very  great.  Her  personal  beauty, 
you  yourself  can  appreciate  much  more  than  I." 

"  A  capital  description,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I  assure  you 
it  finds  echo  in  my  own  heart.  What  a  delicious  sensation 
it  is  to  feel  that  — 

'  There  are  two  hearts  whose  movements  thrill 

In  unison  so  closely  sweet, 
That,  pulse  to  pulse,  responsive  still 
They  both  must  heave,  or  cease  to  beat.' 

How  is  that  for  a  quotation,  Hamilton?  It  refers  to  }rour 
heart  and  mine.  I  was  afraid  you  might  mistake  my  part 
for  Miss  Hazelton's." 

"  Be  serious  for  once  in  your  life,  if  it  is  a  possible  thing, 
and  add  whatever  you  may  think  has  escaped  my  notice,  in 
judging  of  their  dispositions." 

u  You  have  said  enough,  Hamilton  ;  all  that  remains  is,  to 
obtain  Miss  Hazelton's  consent,  infoi'm  your  parents  of  the 
event,  and  fix  the  day.  You  are  a  doomed  man,  Hamilton, 
a  doomed  man  ;  for  love  has  taken  possession  of  your  heart, 


18  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;    OR, 

and  for  you  there  is  no  hope ; "  and  Walter,  with  mock 
solemnity,  shook  his  head. 

Hamilton  was  prevented  from  replying  to  this  speech  by 
the  appearance  of  the  young  ladies.  Walter  stepped  for- 
ward and  assisted  his  cousin  into  the  carriage,  leaving 
Hamilton  to  perform  the  same  office  for  Miss  Hazelton. 
The  horses  trotted  off  gayly,  and  soon  left  the  house  far 
behind  them. 

"  Millie,  where  shall  we  go  ?  Some  sweet,  romantic  spot, 
now  ;  some  place  like  Moore's  bright  little  isle." 

"  I  am  not  a  frequenter  of  such  places,  and  would  not 
know  one  if  I  saw  it.  I  refer  the  choice  to  Mr.  Bla3Te." 

"Well,  Mr.  Blayre  will  be  sure  to  transfer  it  to  Miss 
Hazelton,  and  she,  I  am  certain,  will  confide  in  my  judg- 
ment ;  so  I  think  I  will  be  obliged  to  select  our  resting-place 
myself." 

"  I  declare,  you  must  have  an  exalted  opinion  of  your 
judgment ;  perhaps  Mr.  Blayre  has  something  to  remark  on 
his  ;  you  might  have  given  him  time  to  reply  ;  you  arc  very 
fond  of  supposing  what  arc  others'  intentions,  Walter." 

"  ^.11  right,  Hamilton.  If  you  don't  intend  to  let  Miss 
Hazelton  choose,  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  both  sides  of  the 
road,  and  when  you  see  a  sequestered  spot,  'from  all  intru- 
ders free,'  just  state  your  desires  and  they  shall  be  promptly 
attended  to." 

"  We  can  both  make  the  selection,  if  Miss  Hazelton  has 
no  objection,"  said  Hamilton,  turning  towards  her. 

"  Not  the  least,"  she  replied,  "  onl}'  my  knowledge  of  the 
country  must  not  be  relied  upon ;  I  have  never  been  as  far 
as  this,  in  my  rambles." 

"If  3-011  want  aid,  call  Millie  and  mo  to  your  assistance; 
you  will  find  me  a  great  acquisition." 

The}'  rode  steadily  on  for  miles,  and  then  stopped  at  a 
prett}-,  shady  spot.  The}-  left  the  horses  in  a  place  of  safety, 
and  then,  being  tired  of  sitting  so  long,  the  party  walked 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  19 

towards  the  beach,  where  the  water  shone  and  sparkled 
under  the  golden  rays  of  the  sun.  The  beach  was  dry  and 
sandy ;  huge  rocks  hung  threateningly  over  it,  and  their 
gaunt  shadows,  reflected  in  the  waters  beneath,  made  one 
look  up  involuntarily  and  shudder  at  the  thought  of  their 
falling  and  crushing  all  beneath.  The  water  was  smooth 
and  quiet ;  its  calm  blue  surface  seemed  the  embodiment  of 
peaceful  tranquillity. 

"  One  would  imagine,  from  the  appearance  of  the  sea  to- 
day, that  its  bosom  had  never  been  ruffled  by  angry  storms," 
Hamilton  remarked. 

"You  should  have  said  the  '  warring  elements ';  it  pro- 
duces a  stronger  effect  upon  the  mind,  and  the  use  of  pecul- 
iar phrases  makes  one  appear  an  eccentric  character,  which 
is  highly  favorable  to  the  possessor." 

"  Thank  you,  Walter,"  said  Hamilton,  "  you  are  always 
read}*  with  your  gentle  and  useful  counsels  ;  I  shall  endeavor 
to  profit  by  your  suggestion,  in  future." 

"  Too  bad  you  did  not  bring  j-our  portfolio  with  you,  Miss 
Hazelton  ;  you  might  have  had  some  beautiful  sketches." 

"  We  can  come  again,  Millie,  and  then  Miss  Hazelton  shall 
bring  her  portfolio,"  was  her  cousin's  reply. 

The)'  strolled  along  the  beach  for  an  hour  or  more,  and 
returned  the  same  way,  finding  the  horses,  as  Walter  ex- 
plained, as  comfortable  as  could  be  expected  under  the 
circumstances. 

"  Now,  let  us  start  for  home.  I  feel  the  pangs  of  hunger, 
and  am  afraid  of  fainting  by  the  wayside." 

"  Well,  if  3'ou  are  going  to  faint,  you  had  better  do  so  at 
once,  and  have  it  over ;  you  will  feel  better,  I  am  sure,  after 
it.  A  carriage  is  an  awkward  place  for  such  an  occurrence." 

"  I  fear  very  much  for  you,  Millie  ;  you  are  growing  heart- 
less. Have  3'ou  lost  all  natural  affection  for  your  cousin?" 

"  Keep  the  task  for  another  time,  Walter ;  there  will  be 
many  idle  moments,  when  time  will  hang  heavy  on  your 


20  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

hands  ;  that  will  fill  the  gap  nicely,  besides  being  a  change 
from  the  daily  routine  of  life." 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  }*ou  are  right,  cousin  mine ;  I 
guess  I  '11  lay  it  up  for  a  rainy  day." 

They  were  talking  this  nonsense  while  preparing  to  enter 
the  carriage,  and  Walter  did  not  notice  the  intensity  of 
Hamilton's  gaze,  as,  for  a  few  moments,  he  steadily  looked 
at  Miss  Hazelton.  He  seemed  endeavoring  to  connect  Miss 
Hazelton  with  some  remarkable  incident,  circumstance,  or 
resemblance,  which  he  was  unable  to  recall  to  mind. 
Through  the  drive  home  he  occasionally  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
her,  and  after  removing  them,  became  buried  in  thought ; 
his  countenance  bore  a  most  perplexed  and  distressed  look. 
He  was  suddenly  made  aware  of  his  condition  by  Walter's 
exclaiming,  — 

"  What's  the  matter,  Hamilton?  Is  the  roar  of  ocean  still 
sounding  through  the  caverns  of  your  heart,  or  do  you 

'  Hear  in  yonr  soul  the  music 
Of  wonderful  melodies  t ' " 

Hamilton  roused  himself,  forcing  indifference  into  his  tone 
and  manner,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  Thousand- voiced  Nature  always  breathes  music  to  my 
soul." 

The}'  arrived  home  a  short  time  before  dinner ;  they  sep- 
arated to  meet  at  the  table. 

Hamilton  went  to  his  room,  to  read  the  book  in  which  he 
was  so  interested  in  the  morning  ;  Miss  Hazelton  repaired  to 
the  studio,  and  Millie  left  her  cousin  standing  under  the 
porch,  while  she  went  to  get  a  piece  of  fancy-work,  which  she 
wished  to  have  finished  at  the  close  of  the  summer,  intend- 
ing to  return  and  sit  with  him.  Walter  finding  himself 
alone,  and  knowing  nothing  of  his  cousin's  intention,  thought 
he  would  employ  the  time  profitably  ;  so  he  got  his  sketching 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  21 

materials  and  placed  himself  in  a  position  to  take  a  view  of 
the  house  and  surroundings.  He  resolved,  at  some  future 
da}T,  to  have  it  riehly  embellished,  and  preserve  it  as  a 
memorial  of  Hamilton's  first  and  early  love.  He  confided 
this  resolution  to  him  whom  it  most  concerned,  and  was 
rewarded  for  his  pains,  as  he  subsequently  related,  by  a 
smile  the  most  childlike  and  bland  he  had  ever  witnessed. 

During  the  evening,  Miss  Hazelton  delighted  the  company 
with  her  beautiful  playing,  and  rich,  melodious  voice.  She 
sang  sweetly  the  touching  ballad,  "  I  cannot  sing  the  old 
songs  " ;  and  in  clear,  full  tones,  with  a  gentle  tenderness 
and  soothing  pathos,  the  thrilling  words  of  that  dear  old 
song,  ''Waiting." 

Walter  and  Hamilton,  at  the  request  of  those  present, 
agreed  to  entrance  them,  as  Walter  said,  with  a  few  selec- 
tions from  favorite  but  unknown  authors.  They  both  had 
good  voices,  and  sung  with  pleasing  effect,  several  of  the 
humorous  songs  of  the  day.  Then  Longfellow's  beautiful 
poem,  "  I  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight,"  was  finely  ren- 
dered by  Mr.  Blayre,  whose  deep  bass  voice  corresponded 
well  with  its  solemn  and  impressive  words. 

So  the  evening  passed,  and  all  retired  to  rest  with  firm 
convictions  of  each  other's  good  and  noble  qualities. 


THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 


CHAPTER  m. 

A   CLOSE   RESEMBLANCE. 

DRIVES,  in  one  of  which  they  visited  the  spot  mentioned 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  Miss  Hazelton  taking  many  beau- 
tiful sketches  during  their  stay ;  excursions,  boat-sailing, 
picnic-parties,  in  the  enjoj'ment  of  which  they  made  many 
new  acquaintances,  and  full}'  realized  the  truth  of  the  old 
adage,  "The  more  the  merrier,"  —  occupied  the  whole  time 
and  attention  of  the  four  pleasure-seekers  at  Rosebank. 

One  evening  Hamilton  and  Walter,  finding  themselves 
alone,  began  to  make  arrangements  for  the  next  day's  amuse- 
ment. Hamilton  decided  that  Walter's  proposition  of  visit- 
ing a  small  island,  which  was  a  favorite  resort  of  both 
tourists  and  pleasure-seekers,  should  be  carried  into  effect 
the  following  day.  But  they  were  sadly  disappointed  ;  for 
the  first  sound  which  greeted  them  upon  awakening,  was  the 
pattering  of  rain  upon  the  roof.  They  were  obliged  to  post- 
pone their  trip,  and  seek  amusement  in-doors.  It  greatly 
puzzled  Hamilton,  and  vexed  Walter  not  a  little,  to  see  the 
real  satisfaction  in  Miss  Hazelton's  countenance,  as  she 
watched  the  heavy  drops  of  rain  fall  faster  and  faster  upon 
the  windows,  moistening  the  dry,  parched  earth,  and  making 
the  whole  country  look  dreary  and  blank,  by  depriving  it  of 
the  genial  rays  of  the  sun.  What  astonished  them  still 
more  was,  that  from  breakfast  till  dinner  she  had  not  ap- 
peared once ;  and  when  they  inquired  for  her,  the  only 
explanation  Millie  seemed  able  to  give  was,  that  "  she  was 
busy."  In  the  evening,  she  remained  in  the  parlor,  at  Mrs. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  23 

Sargeant's  earnest  solicitations.  She  did  her  best  to  be 
agreeable,  and  succeeded,  as  she  always  did ;  but  the  quick 
eye  of  Hamilton  detected  a  restlessness  and  anxiety  not 
discerned  by  Walter,  whose  flow  of  spirits  seemed  on  the 
increase.  When  the  clock  announced  the  hour  for  bidding 
good-night,  a  weight  seemed  lifted  from  her  mind,  and  she 
said  the  words  almost  fervently  and  joyfully.  Hamilton 
and  Walter  ascended  to  their  rooms,  and  in  passing  Miss 
Hazelton's  saw  that  a  bright  light  was  burning  there.  They 
walked  on  without  uttering  a  word  until  they  reached  their 
own  rooms,  when  each  gave  vent  to  his  thoughts. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  Miss  Hazelton  has  been  doing  all 
day  ?  "  was  Walter's  first  question. 

"I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell,  Walter;  there  may  have  been 
many  duties  to  attend  to,  which,  owing  to  the  loss  of  time 
during  the  last  three  weeks,  she  has  been  obliged  to  neglect." 

"  Well,  the  duties,  if  they  be  such,  cannot  in  any  way  refer 
to  Millie's  studies,  for  the  whole  family  is  desirous  that  she 
should  take  the  full  benefit  of  her  vacation ;  and  I  have 
even  heard  my  Aunt  Sarah  almost  commanding  her  to  cease 
work  and  join  us." 

"  But,  Walter,  there  may  be  many  claims  upon  her  besides 
Millie's  ;  perhaps  personal  ones,  which  delicacy  would  forbid 
her  making  known." 

"  Well,  I  find  myself  at  a  loss  to  understand  her  conduct ; 
she  looked  so  elated  this  morning,  while  watching  the  rain, 
that  once  I  was  ungenerous  enough  to  think  she  was  enjoy- 
ing our  discomfiture  and  praying  that  the  rain  might  continue 
for  her  special  benefit ;  and  then,  this  evening,  I  noticed 
that  she  complied  with  Aunt  Sarah's  request,  that  she  would 
remain  in  the  drawing-room,  with  a  dissatisfied  expression 
and  unconcerned  manner  that  disturbed  my  impression  of 
her  amiable  qualities." 

Hamilton  gazed  at  Walter  some  time  before  replying; 
then  said,  in  rather  a  low  voice,  — 


24  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  Walter,  I  am  certain  you  are  mistaken.  Did  she  not 
try,  during  the  whole  of  the  evening,  to  be  as  pleasant  as 
possible?  She  may  have  been  inclined  to  return  to  her 
room,  and,  upon  being  asked  to  stay,  might  unconsciously 
have  betrayed  her  disappointment  at  not  being  able  to  do 
so,  by  the  expression  you  noticed.  I  would  almost  swear 
that  she  has  the  best  of  reasons  for  her  conduct." 

"  Please  don't  swear,  Hamilton  ;  it  is  a  very  undignified 
and  ungentlemanly  proceeding,  and  one  in  which,  if  you  trace 
your  genealogy,  you  will  find  3*our  honored  forefathers  never 
indulged.  Besides,  it  would  shock  my  sensitive  nature  to 
hear  language  unbefitting  one  of  the  house  of  Blayre." 

This  closed  the  conversation  for  the  night ;  and  having  no 
more  remarks  to  make  concerning  Miss  Hazelton,  they 
retired  to  rest. 

The  first  exclamation  Walter  made  in  the  morning  had 
reference  to  the  contemplated  trip  to  the  island.  With  a 
few  words  upon  the  weather,  which  was  again  fine,  he 
dressed  himself  hurriedly  and  went  in  search  of  Hamilton. 
He  was  not  in  his  own  room,  nor  in  the  drawing-room ;  so 
he  concluded  he  must  have  gone  for  a  walk.  Walter  seated 
himself  at  the  parlor  window,  where  he  could  see  him,  while 
yet  a  long  way  off.  He  sat  there  long  enough  to  grow 
impatient  at  Hamilton's  absence,  before  he  saw  him  emerg- 
ing from  the  shadow  of  the  hills.  Hamilton  did  not  seem 
at  all  anxious  to  appease  Walter's  impatience,  for  he  walked 
leisurely  along,  apparently  buried  in  thought.  Walter  feel- 
ing himself  growing  warm,  and  to  prevent  any  further  exces- 
sive heat  than  the  day  would  bring,  started  to  meet  him. 
Coming  close  upon  him,  his  first  salute  was, — 

"  You're  a  nice  fellow !  What  hour  of  the  night  found 
you  rambling  through  this  wilderness?  One  would  imagine 
that  your  head  could  not  rest  easy  upon  its  pillow.  I  sup- 
pose it  can't  be  very  easy  when  the  heart  is  concerned  also." 

"  Why,  old  fellow,  I  've  had  a  most  delightful  walk  this 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  25 

morning ;  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  come,  but  you  were 
sleeping  soundly,  and  I  had  not  the  heart  to  wake  you." 

"  The  next  time  j'ou  arc  going  to  parade,  just  give  me 
timely  warning,  and  I  '11  be  ready  to  review  you.  I  never 
find  the  charms  of  solitude,  no  matter  how  I  seek  them. 
Who  is  that  at  the  studio  window  —  Millie?" 

Hamilton  raised  his  eyes  to  the  spot  indicated,  and  replied 
that  it  was  Miss  Ilazclton.  She  appeared  intent  upon  her 
work,  whatever  it  was  ;  accidentally  lifting  her  03*03  she  saw 
them,  bowed,  smiled,  and  immediately  resumed  her  work. 

"  I  have  a  dim  foreboding  that  the  young  lady  we  have 
just  seen  is  going  to  refuse  to  come  with  us  to-day  ;  if  that 
should  happen,  be  assured,  Hamilton,  that  you  have  my 
heartfelt  sympathies." 

"  I  think  that  if  such  a  disaster  should  occur,  Walter,  the 
gloom  it  will  occasion  will  fall  heaviest  upon  you,  for  you 
seem  to  be  always  looking  out  for  the  young  lady's  wishes, 
and  seem  very  anxious  that  they  should  be  gratified." 

"Yes  ;  but  you  know  true  love  is  silent,  timid,  and  watch- 
ful of  itself,  and  yon  possess  all  these  qualities." 

"  Truly,  Walter,  you  can  read  the  human  heart  well." 

Here  Walter's  laugh  almost  drowned  the  sound  of  the 
breakfast-bell.  Miss  Hazelton  was  the  last  to  enter  the 
dining-room.  Upon  being  informed  of  their  plans,  she  colored 
slightly  and  excused  herself  from  attending  the  excursion. 
Mrs.  Sargeant  looked  surprised,  and  the  Major,  in  his 
bluff  way,  told  her  she  would  kill  herself  working.  She 
laughed,  saying  there  was  little  probability  of  either  her 
health  or  spirits  failing.  Millie  asked  if  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly go,  and  she  quietly  shook  her  head.  Walter,  several 
times  during  the  meal,  was  on  the  point  of  coming  out  in 
rather  strong  terms,  but  controlled  himself,  merely  remark- 
ing that  her  work  must  be  very  important  if  it  could  not  be 
put  off  for  one  day.  She  made  no  reply,  and  no  further 
reference  was  made  to  her  refusal  during  the  meal.  She  was 


26  fHE  LOST  RECEIPT;    OH, 

going  up  stairs,  when  Mr.  Blayre  called  her.  She  stood 
still,  waiting  for  him.  When  he  reached  her,  he  asked,— 

"  Must  you  positively  remain  at  home  ?  Cannot  you 
arrange  it  in  some  way  that  your  work  can  be  finished  after- 
wards ?  " 

"No,"  she  replied,  firmly,  "I  cannot ;  it  has  been  post- 
poned for  three  weeks  ;  I  must  do  it  now  ; "  and  with  a  slight 
bow,  and  a  hope  that  they  would  enjoy  the  visit,  she  passed 
him  and  took  her  way  to  the  studio. 

During  the  day  a  letter  arrived  from  Walter's  parents,  in 
which  they  announced  their  acceptance  of  Mrs.  Sargeant'a 
invitation  to  visit  them ;  they  would  be  at  Rosebank  in 
three  days.  Walter  received  this  intelligence,  upon  return- 
ing home  in  the  evening,  with  unbounded  delight. 

During  the  three  days  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seymour's 
arrival  very  little  was  seen  of  Miss  Hazelton, —  only  at 
meal-times ;  and  she  never  came  to  the  parlor  in  the  even- 
ing, as  was  her  custom. 

At  last  the  expected  visitors  arrived,  and  great  was  eveiy 
one's  pleasure  at  seeing  them.  Ten  y^ars  had  passed  since 
they  had  spent  a  summer  with  the  Sargeants,  who  had  been 
travelling  most  of  the  time.  The  re-union  of  the  two  fami- 
lies proved  a  joyous  and  happy  event.  Millie  went  to  seek 
Miss  Hazelton,  and  finding  her  where  she  expected,  —  in  the 
studio,  —  told  her  that  Walter's  parents  had  come,  and  she 
would  like  to  present  her  to  them.  She  rose,  arranged  her 
hair,  and  descended  with  Millie  to  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour, with  a  slight  start,  rose  as  Millie  presented  her,  and 
for  a  few  moments  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Miss  Hazelton's 
face ;  then  recollecting  herself,  she  shook  hands  with  her 
warmly,  saying  that  she  reminded  her  of  a  person  who  was 
once  very  dear  to  her. 

Mrs.  Seymour  was  a  tall,  stately  woman.  Though  forty 
summers  had  passed  over  her,  they  left  no  trace  upon  the 
smooth,  fair  brow.  Time  had  made  no  furrows  there  ;  a  few 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  27 

silver  threads  among  the  rich,  dark  tresses  were  the  only 
memorials  which  he  had  loft  to  tell  of  years  that  had  come 
and  gone  unheeded.  The  large  gray  eyes  still  retained 
their  original  brightness.  As  she  stood  beside  Miss  Hazel- 
ton,  all  present  seemed  struck  by  the  similarity  between 
them. 

"  Well,"  thought  Mr.  Blayre,  "  they  look  enough  alike  to  be 
mother  and  daughter.  There,  at  last,  is  the  resemblance  I 
have  been  trying  to  recall  and  could  never  succeed.  I  knew 
she  looked  like  some  one  I  had  seen.  Can  it  be  that  they 
are  in  any  way  related  ?  But  no,  that  cannot  be ;  one  is  in 
the  possession  of  wealth  and  station,  while  the  other  is 
obliged  to  earn  her  bread." 

Nettie,  by  her  conversation  and  friendly  manner,  won  the 
admiration  and  esteem  of  Walter's  father. 

Rosebauk  was  alive  with  mirth  during  the  remainder  of 
the  summer,  and  Miss  Hazelton's  wishes  to  be  alone  were 
seldom  gratified ;  and  her  refusals  to  join  their  pleasure- 
parties  were  received  with  so  much  disappointment  and 
regret  that  she  often  wavered  between  what  she  considered 
her  duty  and  her  desire  to  please  others.  Learning  from 
Walter  that  he  thought  it  was  Miss  Hazelton's  painting  that 
obliged  her  to  excuse  herself  from  their  company  so  fre- 
quenth',  Mr.  Seymour  became  greatly  interested  in  her,  and 
was  very  anxious  to  see  what  so  occupied  her  time  and 
attention.  Oue  morning  Miss  Hazelton  was  later  than 
usual  for  breakfast ;  she  did  not  hear  the  breakfast-bell,  and 
after  waiting  a  while,  Mrs.  Sargeant  sent  a  servant  to  tell 
her  that  the}'  were  breakfasting. 

"  Have  you  accomplished  much  this  morning,  Miss  Hazel- 
ton?"  inquired  Mr.  Seymour,  when  she  had  seated  herself 
at  the  table. 

"Miss  Ilazelton  is  always  accomplishing  something, 
father,  even  if  it  is  the  ruin  of  some  one  else,"  said  Walter, 
looking  straight  across  the  table  to  where  Hamilton  sat. 


Jg  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   Oft, 

The  latter  pretended  he  had  not  heard  the  remark,  and 
Miss  Hazelton  turned  to  answer  the  question  put  to  her. 

"  I  have  not  done  much  this  morning,  though  it  is  as 
much  as  I  expected  to  do." 

They  talked  for  some  time  upon  the  subject  of  painting, 
and  then  Miss  Hazelton  inquired  if  the  Captain,  Walter's 
father,  would  like  to  look  at  her  morning's  work.  It  was  just 
the  question  he  wanted  to  be  asked,  and  he  readily  replied 
that  nothing  would  give  him  greater  pleasure.  An  invita- 
tion followed,  in  which  Hamilton  so  managed  it  that  he  was 
included.  They  followed  her  to  the  studio,  while  Walter 
and  Millie  went  to  have  a  game  of  chess.  The  Captain  and 
Hamilton  spent  an  hour  or  more  examining  the  paintings 
she  showed  them.  The  Captain  felt  inclined  to  ask  a  few 
questions,  but  delicacy  forbade  him.  Hamilton  Blayre  left 
her,  with  stronger  convictions  than  ever,  that  she  was  assist- 
ing some  one  by  her  labor. 

When  she  found  herself  alone,  the  tears  so  long  sup- 
pressed flowed  freely,  as  she  thought  of  her  childhood  home 
and  the  loved  ones  who  made  it  dear ;  of  the  toil  and  strug- 
gle which  the  last  few  years  had  brought  her,  and  the  vain 
waiting  and  hopeless  yearning  for  the  future  to  end  it.  Yet, 
she  meditated,  what  had  she  to  mourn  for,  since  it  was  the  will 
of  her  Heavenly  Father  that  these  calamities  should  come.  It 
is  true,  she  had  suffered,  but  she  had  often  realized, — 

"  That  sorrow,  touched  by  Him,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
Wo  never  saw  by  day." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  £9 


CHAPTER  IV. 

\ 

THE   HAUNTED   GLEN   VISITED. 

Miss  HAZELTON  was  continually  in  the  mind  of  Hamilton 
Blayre.  He  loved  her ;  it  was  useless  denying  it.  He 
thought  of  her  whole  hours  together,  and  was  often  roused 
from  his  reveries  by  Walter's  laughingly  informing  him  that 
he  was  a  doomed  man.  Though  Walter  frequently  rallied 
him  upon  his  affair  of  the  heart,  as  he  termed  it,  he  knew 
that  Hamilton  truly  and  sincerely  loved  Miss  Hazelton; 
and  he  knew,  too,  that  when  Hamilton  Blayre  loved  it  was 
a  love  earnest  and  deep ;  he  knew  his  heart  would  be 
crushed  and  utterty  broken  if  he  could  not  achieve  happi- 
ness by  gaining  the  object  of  his  affections. 

The  thought  of  the  difference  of  their  stations  in  life,  the 
anger  of  his  parents  and  sister,  if  such  an  event  as  their  mar- 
riage took  place,  prompted  Hamilton  to  make  the  resolution 
of  thinking  of  her  no  more.  But  he  found  this  determination 
impossible ;  so  he  let  his  thoughts  have  their  swa}*,  and 
regretted  more  and  more  the  sclQsh  spirit  which  character- 
ized the  societ}*  in  which  he  moved. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  a  warm,  bright  day  in  August  ; 
the  horses  stood  waiting  at  the  door  to  convey  the  party  tu 
a  place  at  a  considerable  distance,  which  was  known  as  the 
"  Haunted  Glen."  Walter  and  Miss  Hazelton  were  going 
to  sketch,  and  the  others  were  to  accompan3r  them.  All 
were  soon  seated,  and  the  horses,  eager  to  be  off,  trotted 
away  in  the  direction  of  their  destination. 

"  Now,  Hamilton,  don't  you  think  I  am  a  good  fellow, 
to  plan  this  drive  for  your  special  benefit?  My  sketch* 


80  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

ing  was  only  a  secondary  motive ;  I  knew  that  in  future 
years  you  would  look  back  through  the  maze  of  antiquity 
and  remember  this  as  a  4  golden  hour,'  in  which  memor}'  I 
hope  to  be  recalled.  Gently  and  kindly  you  will  then  say, 

'  None  knew  him  but  to  love  him, 
None  named  him  bat  to  praise.' " 

"  We'll  have  to  see  a  greater  display  of  your  good  quali- 
ties before  we  can  bestow  that  eulogium  upon  you,  for  '  self- 
praise  goes  little  ways,' "  Hamilton  replied. 

The\'  chatted  all  the  way,  Walter's  spirits  never  tiring. 
Sometimes  the  occupants  of  the  other  carriage,  who  were  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Seymour,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sargeant,  pleasantly 
joined  in  the  conversation.  Reaching  the  glen,  the  whole 
party  entered.  It  was  a  gloomy  place ;  gloomy  enough, 
indeed,  to  be  haunted.  In  the  middle  of  it  was  a  dark, 
dreary-looking  lake,  whose  sluggish  waters  never  moved, 
never  produced  any  sound,  never  gave  any  sign  of  life ;  all 
beneath  and  around  it  seemed  dead  years  and  }'ears  ago ;  in 
fact,  seemed  to  have  been  placed  there  when  dead,  and  to 
have  been  growing  deader  and  deader,  if  it  were  possible, 
year  by  year.  A  few  straggling  sunbeams,  that  seemed  to 
have  lost  their  way,  struggled  through  the  withered  branches 
of  the  stunted  trees  that  tried  hard  to  grow  around  it. 
This  glen  had  a  great  echo ;  the  boys  of  the  neighborhood 
used  to  congregate  there  in  the  evenings  and  talk  and  sing, 
while  the  echo  would  answer  back  loud  and  distinct ;  it  was 
avoided  by  the  rustics,  who  named  it  the  "  Haunted 
Glen."  They  examined  it,  and  Walter  and  Hamilton  went 
far  into  the  cave,  which  was  the  principal  curiosit}*  of  the 
glen.  Miss  Hazelton  took  a  most  perfect  sketch,  and 
Walter  was  so  pleased  with  it  that  he  asked  her  to  give  him 
a  copy  of  it ;  she  promised,  and  Mr.  Blayre  making  the 
same  request,  she  was  obliged  to  comply  with  it.  Hamilton 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  81 

murmured  his  thanks  and  bent  his  eyes  tenderly  and  long- 
ingly on  the  beautiful  face  smilingly  raised  to  his. 

The  time  of  falling  leaves  came  ;  the  "  melanchoty  days." 
The  trees,  stripped  of  all  they  possessed,  bowed  and  bent  in 
the  blast.  The  country  looked  wild  and  cheerless  now,  and 
the  family  were  going  to  leave  it,  because  there  was  no 
more  pleasure  there.  Sad,  dreamy  autumn,  with  its  whis- 
pering music  of  rustling  leaves,  and  its  soft,  low  moaning 
of  sighing  winds,  had  taken  the  place  of  bright,  glowing 
summer. 

Hamilton  Blayre  received  a  letter  from  his  sister,  announc- 
ing the  illness  of  his  father,  and  requesting  his  immediate 
return.  He  went  to  his  room  to  make  preparations  for  his 
departure.  His  mind  was  troubled,  not  alone  by  the  news 
he  had  heard  from  home ;  he  was  disappointed  because  he 
could  not  return  to  the  city  with  the  family,  —  and  he  was 
still  more  disappointed  because  he  was  deprived  of  the 
society  of  Miss  Hazelton.  sooner  than  he  had  expected.  He 
slept  but  little  that  night,  and  was  up  early  next  morning. 
He  went  for  his  usual  walk,  which  4his  morning  he  took  in 
the  direction  of  "  King  Charles."  Arriving  there,  he  seated 
himself  upon  the  bench  where  he  had  first  seen  7ier,  the  sub- 
ject of  his  ever}'  thought.  He  loved  her  so  intensely ;  but 
society  would  not  tolerate  their  union,  and  his  own  dignity 
and  pride  revolted  at  the  thought  of  marrying  a  governess. 
As  he  was  communing  thus  with  his  own  thoughts,  he  saw 
Miss  Hazelton  walk  across  the  lawn,  and  he  had  a  faint  hope 
that  she  would  come  towards  the  spot  where  he  sat ;  but  she 
took  another  road.  As  he  watched  her  fast  disappearing 
form,  he  could  not  help  repeating  Whittier's  lines,  — 

'"Would  she  were  mine,  and  I  to-day, 
Like  her,  a  harvester  of  hay : 
No  doubtful  balance  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Nor  weary  lawyers  with  endless  tongues, 
But  low  of  cattle  and  song  of  birds, 


82  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

And  health  and  quiet  and  loving  words.' 
But  he  thought  of  his  sisters  proud  and  cold, 
And  his  mother  vain  of  her  rank  and  gold. 
So,  closing  his  heart,  the  Judge  rode  on, 
And  Maud  was  left  in  the  field  alone." 


A  firm  determination  was  formed  in  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  follow  the  Judge's  example,  but  would  woo  and  win  her, 
even  if  he  lost  all  he  possessed  by  doing  so.  His  happiness 
depended  upon  her,  and  if  he  wished  to  secure  it  he  must 
overcome  pride  and  dignity ;  overstep  the  narrow  bounds  of 
society  and  gain  her  as  his  bride.  After  musing  a  while 
longer  he  decided  to  walk  over  the  same  path  she  had  gone. 
He  could  guess  where  she  ended  her  journey ;  so  be  went 
steadily  along  until  he  found  himself  standing  before  the  old 
ruined  castle  he  had  heard  her  speak  of;  it  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  hers.  His  surmise  was  correct ;  for  there  she  was, 
leaning  upon  one  of  the  stone  pillars  in  the  west  wing  of 
the  tower.  He  ascended  the  old  winding  staircase,  that  in 
width  would  admit  but  one  person,  and  stood  beside  her. 
She  was  gazing  out  upon  the  water,  from  which  the  sun 
seemed  to  rise ;  the  tide  was  low,  the  beach  was  dry  and 
sandy  ;  the  shells  glittered  like  silver,  as  the  golden  beams 
of  the  rising  sun  fell  upon  them  ;  dulce  and  seaweed  floated 
upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  blue  smoke  from  the 
few  white  cottages  along  the  shore  curled  gracefully  to  the 
sky.  Her  whole  soul  seemed  wrapt  in  contemplating  the 
scene  before  her.  She  started  suddenly  upon  hearing  the 
sound  of  a  footstep  near  her,  and  seeing  him,  looked  anno}-ed 
and  displeased. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Hazelton  ;  I  did  not  mean  to 
intrude  ;  but  seeing  you  out  for  the  same  purpose  as  myself 
I  endeavored  to  overtake  3*011,  but  }-ou  have  shown  yourself 
a  great  pedestrian,  and  have  completely  outstripped  my 
fleetness." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  33 

"  I  have  come  to  sketch,"  she  replied ;  "  was  that  your 
purpose  ?  " 

"  You  have  come  to  walk,  as  usual,  too,  have  you  not?" 

"I  have  come  to  pay  a  last  visit  to  my  favorite  spot, 
early  in  the  morning,  that  I  might  be  alone." 

It  was  a  pointed  reply  ;  but  he  was  resolved  that  nothing 
should  daunt  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  having  interrupted  your  work,  Miss 
rlazelton  ;  if  you  resume  it  I  will  visit  the  other  parts  of  tha 
castle,  and  wait  until  you  have  finished.  I  have  something 
I  wish  to  say  to  you  before  going  home." 

He  descended  the  stairs,  leaving  her  sketching  alone. 
Hearing  her  coming  down,  lie  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  led  her  into  what  once  might  have  been  a  room, 
now  so  decayed  that  it  bore  no  trace  of  its  ever  having  bees 
a  human  habitation. 

"  This  is  not  the  way  out,"  she  remarked,  when  she  dis- 
covered his  intentions. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  if  3Tou  have  no  objections,  we'll 
remain  a  little  longer.  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  have 
something  to  tell  you?  a  question  to  ask,  and  only  upon 
3rou  depends  the  answer." 

She  looked  at  him,  astonished. 

"Perhaps  you  have  learned  before  now,  Nettie"  (it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  addressed  her  thus) , "  that  I  love  you.  I 
"mow  that  by  marrying  you  I  forfeit  all  claim  to  my  father's 
wealth,  all  claims  to  a  mother's  love  and  a  sister's  devoted- 
ness  ;  but  I  would  lose  even  more  than  that  for  j-ou.  And, 
Nettie,  I  would  wish  you  to  keep  our  engagement  secret,  for 
a  year,  at  least." 

She  heard  him  through  before  speaking,  and  then  indig- 
nantly replied,  — 

"  You  talk,  sir,  as  though  the  promise  of  marriage  had 
ilready  been  given.  I  have  given  you  no  reason  to  wish  for 


34  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;  OR, 

secrecy.  You  had  better  keep  your  mother's  love  and  sis- 
ter's devotedness,  and  don't  by  any  means  lose  your  inherit- 
ance," she  sarcastically  rejoined. 

The  words  and  tone  incensed  him ;  his  pride  was  wounded, 
and  he  angrily  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  know  what  }*our  position  in  life  is?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  I  do  know  my  position  in  life  ;  it  is 
such  that  I  would  not  change  it  now  for  even  the  one  you 
could  offer  me,  could  you  retain  your  fortune  and  the  love 
and  devotedness  of  j'our  mother  and  sister." 

The  tone  and  manner  were  calm,  the  countenance  grew 
sad,  and  in  her  e}'es  was  a  look  soft  and  deep,  which  he 
could  not  understand.  He  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  her, 
and  his  heart  was  wrung  with  anguish.  He  stifled  the  bitter 
and  resentful  feelings  that  were  gathering  there,  and  in  a 
softened  voice  said, — 

"  Well,  Nettie,  ma}*  I  ask  one  more  question?" 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  he  proceeded,  — 

"  Are  you  betrothed  to  another?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  not." 

"Then  may  I  hope  that  at  some  future  day  you  will 
change  your  determination  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  what  the  future  may  bring  forth ;  do  not 
build  your  hopes  upon  so  weak  a  foundation,  for  the  future 
may  crush  them,  as  it  often  has  done." 

There  was  no  shade  of  passion  now  in  the  sweet  counte- 
nance, and  she  smiled  pleasantly,  as  she  told  him  she  was 
ready  to  return. 

"  Come,  then,"  he  said,  offering  her  his  arm,  "  we  will 
surely  be  late  for  breakfast  this  morning." 

On  their  way  back,  he  said  to  her,  — 

"  I  am  going  home  this  evening,  Miss  Hazelton  ;  do  you 
intend  to  remain  with  the  Sargeants  during  the  winter?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  accompany  them  to  the  city;  they  will  be 
leaving  here  in  a  few  weeks.  I  heard  Mr.  Seymour  say 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  85 

that  he  would  go  to  his  home  when  they  left  the  country. 
Are  j^ou  not  going  to  start  together?" 

"  No ;  I  received  a  letter  this  morning,  peremptorily 
ordering  me  to  return  at  once.  My  father  has  been  attacked 
by  a  sudden  illness,  so  I  am  obliged  to  obey  the  summons. 
Perhaps  I  may  sec  you  sometime  in  the  city.  You  won't 
exclude  me  from  the  circle  of  your  friends,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  am  not  so  despotic.  We  will  be  very  good 
friends." 

"  Very  well,  since  it  must  be  so ;  we  will  be  very  amicable 
and  agreeable,  I  hope." 

They  had  reached  the  house  by  this  time,  and  after  break- 
fast he  saw  her  no  more  until  the  time  of  parting  arrived, 
when  she  came  to  bid  him  good-by.  He  clasped  her  hand 
convulsively,  and  with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  parted 
from  those  who  had  become  dear  to  him,  and  whose  memory 
4e  would  cherish  through  life. 


THE  LOST  RECEIPT;    OR, 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   BACKWARD   GLANCE. 

ROSEBANK  was  deserted  ;  its  visitors  had  returned  to  their 
homes,  and  the  Sargeant  family  had  bid  it  farewell  and  goue 
to  the  city,  where  they  lived  during  the  winter.  We  will  be 
polite  enough  to  give  them  a  chance  of  settling  themselves 
in  their  city  home  before  calling  upon  them,  and  in  the  mean- 
time will  turn  our  attention  in  another  direction.  We  will 
look  back  through  the  past  and  see  what  portion  of  our  story 
it  contains. 

One  afternoon,  in  the  warmest  part  of  the  summer,  a  tall, 
fine-looking  man  was  seen  to  come  out  of  a  small  office, 
over  which  glittered,  in  large  letters,  the  name  of  Lawyer 
Fuller.  He  seemed  downcast,  as  he  walked  slowly  away. 
The  song  of  birds,  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and  the  beauty 
of  nature  were  unheeded  by  him.  At  last  he  stopped  at 
the  foot  of  a  high  hill,  on  the  summit  of  which  stood  a 
beautiful  stone  mansion.  It  was  well  known  in  the  town  of 

B ,  and  was  called  "  Hazel  Hill."  It  commanded  a 

grand  view  of  the  coast  on  the  right.  Neither  labor  nor 
expense  was  spared  in  its  improvements.  The  choicest 
and  rarest  exotics  were  brought  to  beautify  the  spot ;  marble 
fountains  of  curious  workmanship,  whose  waters  sparkled 
in  the  sun  ;  arbors,  summer-houses,  statues,  and  all  the  vari- 
ous ornaments  that  wealth  can  purchase,  were  used  to  deco- 
rate the  grounds  of  "  Hazel  Hill."  And  he  was  their 
master  ;  there  he  stood,  at  its  base,  dejected  and  melancholy 
looking.  Mr.  John  Hazelton  was  much  beloved  by  his 
tenants,  highly  esteemed  by  his  acquaintances,  and  honored 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  37 

and  respected  throughout  the  town.  He  was  rich,  and  his 
riches  wrought  his  ruin.  He  never  visited  the  gambling- 
table,  but  he  was  not  free  from  habits  connected  with  it ;  he 
was  a  great  lover  of  fast  horses,  and  had  a  mania  for  races  ; 
he  used  to  bet  immense  sums  of  money,  seldom  ever  winning, 
and  now  he  found  his  estate  mortgaged  for  the  sum  of  ten 
thousand  pounds,  with  no  chance  of  meeting  it.  His  family 
consisted  of  a  wife  and  three  children.  It  weighed  heavily 
upon  him  to  be  obliged  to  break  the  painful  news  to  his  lov- 
ing and  patient  wife.  She  knew  before  now  the  bad  habit 
to  which  he  was  addicted,  and  had  reasoned  with  him  and 
besought  him  to  change  his  company  ;  she  had  warned  him 
of  this  event,  but  in  his  blindness  he  had  never  dreamed  of 
its  realization.  He  entered  the  house  and  went  into  the 
library ;  ponder  as  he  would,  he  could  find  no  means  of 
escape  from  the  impending  doom.  For  three  da}'S  he  was 
almost  bereft  of  his  senses  ;  he  ate  nothing,  and  the  hours 
of  night  found  him  pacing  his  room  in  a  wild  and  restless 
manner.  Mrs.  Huzelton  knew  that  some  heavy  misfortune 
had  fallen  upon  her  husband ;  she  knew  that  he  must  un- 
burden his  heart  of  its  weight  before  he  could  take  any  steps 
towards  repairing  his  loss ;  she  suspected  that  his  trouble 
had  reference  to  his  inability  to  pay  the  debts  contracted  by 
his  gambling  propensity.  Her  questioning  brought  forth 
the  confession  of  his  guilt.  She  bent  her  large  dark  eyes 
upon  him,  and  seeing  the  change  which  the  last  few  days 
had  made  in  her  husband  she  had  no  reproof  for  him. 
Assuming  an  air  of  cheerfulness,  she  asked  with  whom  he 
had  contracted  the  debt.  He  replied  that  Mr.  Fuller  was 
his  creditor  for  the  amount  of  six  thousand  pounds,  which 
must  be  paid  at  once ;  he  positively  refused  to  wait.  Mr. 
Long  had  been  kind  enough  to  offer  to  wait  for  a  few  months. 
At  this  moment,  their  eldest  child,  Nettie,  —  with  whom  the 
reader  is  already  acquainted, —  rode  up  the  lawn,  dis- 
mounted, gave  her  horse  to  a  servant,  and  bounding  up 


88  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;  OR, 

the  stone  steps,  entered  the  room  in  which  her  parents  were 
seated.  She  went  over  to  her  mother,  to  show  her  morn- 
ing's work,  a  sketch  of  the  Haunted  Lake.  Mrs.  Hazelton 
was  a  lady  of  education  and  culture,  and  greatly  contributed, 
by  her  care  and  talents,  in  forming  her  children's  minds ; 
she  always  took  the  greatest  interest  in  Nettie's  studies,  and 
aided  and  encouraged  her  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge. 
Nettie  was  at  that  time  nineteen  years  old,  and  very  accom- 
plished for  one  of  her  age.  The  careless  manner  in  which 
her  mother  looked  at  the  sketch  made  Nettie  fear  that  some- 
thing had  happened  to  annoy  her.  Looking  at  her  father, 
she  was  alarmed  by  his  pale  and  haggard  countenance,  and 
his  look  of  utter  desolation.  His  e}*es  were  heavy  and  dull 
for  the  want  of  rest.  It  was  with  a  strong  effort  he  re- 
strained his  feelings  when  his  eyes  rested  upon  her.  He 
looked  a  bowed  and  broken-hearted  man,  filled  with  sorrow 
and  remorse  for  the  evil  he  had  done  but  could  not  repair. 
That  was  the  picture  Nettie  saw  before  her  that  bright  sum- 
mer day,  and  throwing  aside  her  sketch-book,  with  all  a 
child's  affection  she  went  to  where  her  father  was  seated, 
put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  lovingly,  and 
asked  if  he  were  ill,  or  what  was  the  cause  of  his  grief- 
stricken  appearance.  He  pressed  her  closely  in  his  arms 
and  asked  her  if  she  was  able  to  bear  a  heavy  blow,  dealt  by 
the  hand  of  her  father. 

"  I  have  done  it  at  last,  Nettie ;  I  have  blighted  your 
most  promising  hopes ;  I  have  blasted  your  future  pros- 
pects, ruined  my  family,  and  brought  sorrow  and  miser}'  to 
your  mother ; "  and  the  strong  man  groaned  aloud  in  his 
anguish. 

Nettie  soothed  him  with  her  gentle  words,  and  calmed  his 
worn  and  agitated  mind  by  the  true,  heroic  manner  in  which 
she  heard  the  fate  that  was  hanging  over  them.  When  he 
had  finished  speaking,  she  said  gayly, — 

"  Why,  father ;  there  is  the  five  thousand  pounds  left  me 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  89 

by  grandfather,  and  there  is  the  cottage  at  Onkdale  ;  use  that 
money ;  I  would  rather  it  would  be  used  than  lying  in  the 
bank,  under  the  present  circumstances." 

"  I  know,  Nettie  ;  but  I  cannot  bear  to  take  the  sum  left 
you  by  your  grandfather." 

"  Oh,  but  I  know  you  will  pay  me  back,  with  interest, 
papa." 

"  It  would  be  very  difficult  for  me  to  procure  it ;  and  be- 
sides, the  amount  to  bo  paid  is  ten  thousand  pounds." 

"  Then  we  can  sell  the  cottage ;  that  will  bring  the 
remainder." 

"  No,  never,  never,  Nettie ;  you  must  keep  the  cottage. 
I  would  rather  see  the  mansion  go  than  see  you  deprived  of 
your  grandfather's  gift,  my  noble,  true-hearted  girl,"  said 
he,  tenderly  caressing  her. 

During  this  time,  Mrs.  Hazelton  had  never  uttered  a 
word.  She  was  pleased  and  proud  of  her  daughter's  gen- 
erosity. She  had  known  well  her  husband's  extravagance, 
and  for  years  had  lived  in  the  fear  of  hearing  some  day 
the  story  of  his  ruin.  He  had  always  allowed  her  a  gener- 
ous sum  for  the  household  expenses,  and  she,  with  the  pru- 
dence of  a  true  woman,  had  economized  so  for  the  last  few 
years,  that  she  had  saved  the  sum  of  four  thousand  pounds. 
She  gave  him  the  money,  and  he  went  to  pay  Fuller.  This 
was  the  second  time  Mrs.  Hazelton  had  paid  a  large  debt 
contracted  by  her  husband.  Her  prayer  day  and  night  was, 
that  God  would  lead  him  from  his  evil  ways  into  the  true 
path ;  she  never  murmured,  or  upbraided  him  with  neglect  of 
herself  or  her  children,  but  had  endeavored  to  wean  him 
from  the  bad  company  he  was  so  fond  of.  All  her  efforts  had 
proved  fruitless.  He  loved  his  home,  his  children,  and  his  wife, 
but  he  never  made  a  real  determination  to  overcome  his  pas- 
sion for  gambling ;  and  so  he  had  gone  on  and  on,  without 
heeding  her  warning  voice,  till  defeat  after  defeat  had  over- 
taken him,  and  he  found  himself,  as  he  thought,  a  ruined  man. 


40  THE  LOS  T  RECEIPT,-   OR, 

Mr.  Hazelton,  upon  leaving  the  house,  walked  along  nntil 
he  came  to  the  low,  dingy-looking  building  from  which  he 
was  seen  coming  a  few  da}-s  before.  As  he  entered  the 
office,  Mr.  Fuller,  who  was  seated  at  his  desk,  apparently 
engaged  in  writing,  rose  to  meet  him.  Fuller  was  of  IOT* 
birth,  and  what  he  termed  himself,  a  "  self-made  man."  He 
had  little  education,  and  no  refinement ;  the  sentiments  of 
honor  never  troubled  him,  and  his  conscience  was  a  most 
convenient  one ;  it  was  always  sleeping.  His  religious 
principles,  if  he  ever  had  any,  were  all  turned  to  the  honor- 
ing and  worshipping  of  mammon.  He  had  a  coarse,  ugly 
visage,  grim  and  ghastly  from  the  blackness  within.  A 
sinister  smile  forever  haunted  the  vicious-looking  mouth. 
This  smile  became  absolutely  wicked  when  he  wished  to 
appear  pleased  at  anything  he  saw  or  heard.  He  had 
small,  cunning,  sharp  eyes,  that  seemed  made  for  the 
express  purpose  of  ferreting  out  other  people's  money,  and 
when  safe  in  his  hands,  gloating  over  it  with  the  horrible 
joy  of  a  miser.  He  had  been  Mr.  Hazelton's  agent  some 
years  before,  and  now  was  the  richest  broker  in  the 
country.  This  was  the  man  who  rose  to  greet  the  master 
of  Hazel  Hill.  With  an  ugly  smile  playing  upon  his  uglier 
visage,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  pretended  burst  of  good  feeling, — 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Hazelton ;  I  am  more  than  pleased 
with  3'our  appearance  ;  j*ou  arc  looking  well  this  evening." 

His  visitor  took  no  notice  of  these  remarks,  but  transact- 
ing his  business,  left  the  office  in  haste.  Fuller  looked  after 
him,  a  little  surprised  at  his  abrupt  departure.  He  turned 
towards  the  desk,  saying  to  himself,  "  Never  mind  his  man- 
ner ;  I'll  have  a  visit  from  him  when  the  next  race  takes 
place." 

Some  weeks  previous  to  this  occurrence,  a  dispute  arose 
between  the  two  men.  "  Old  Fuller,"  as  he  was  generally 
called,  had  the  audacity  to  ask  of  Mr.  Hazelton  his  lovely 
daughter  in  marriage.  Mr.  Hazelton,  indignant  at  his  pre- 


FRUSTRATED  DESIOXS.  41 

sumption,  decidedly  refused.  Fuller  thinking  he  had  him 
firmly  in  his  clutches,  threatened,  if  he  did  not  comply  with 
his  request,  to  ruin  him.  Knowing  Mr.  Hazelton's  circun> 
stances,  he  was  greatly  disappointed  at  receiving  the  six 
thousand  pounds  he  had  lent  him.  Mr.  Hazelton  replied 
that  he  preferred  to  be  ruined,  rather  than  live  to  see  his 
daughter  the  wife  of  such  a  man.  Fuller  was  exasperated, 
and  after  Mr.  Ilazelton  had  left  him,  said  with  a  low 
chuckle,  "  She  will  be  mine  yet,  or  I  will  lose  all  I  am  worth 
in  the  attempt  to  gain  her." 

Mr.  Hazelton  never  after  entered  the  office  of  Fuller.  A 
blight  fell  upon  Hazel  Hill ;  a  blight  that  we  all  know,  or 
must  know  some  time.  When  it  falls  it  stuns  the  heart, 
unnerves  the  brain,  weakens  the  mind,  and  we  know,  by  the 
tumult  in  our  souls,  that  death  has  come.  No  matter 
whether  the  sun  shines  brightl}*,  or  the  gloom  of  night  pre- 
vails ;  no  matter  whether  the  trees  are  green  in  their  sum- 
mer dress,  or  whether  the  leaves  lie  dead  and  withered  in 
heaps  upon  the  ground  ;  no  matter  whether  the  air  is  jo^yous 
with  songs  of  birds,  or  whether  the  wild  winds  of  winter 
sweep  the  plain,  we  know  it  when  it  comes,  for  "  Thou  hast 
all  seasons  for  thine  own,  O  Death."  So  the  mansion  on 
the  hill  was  draped  in  mourning,  and  a  form,  cold  and  white, 
with  the  seal  of  death  upon  its  brow,  slept  "  the  sleep  that 
knows  no  waking."  Hazel  Hill  had  no  master  now,  for  the 
trouble  and  remorse  for  the  deeds  he  had  done  had  weighed 
down  and  crushed  the  strength  and  energy  of  the  man  ;  and 
one  evening,  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  just  as  the  last  faint 
streak  of  red  melted  into  gray,  Mr.  Hazelton's  spirit  left  its 
earthly  tenement  and  passed  beyond  the  boundary  of  human 
vision,  whither  nothing  human  might  follow. 

Mrs.  Hazelton's  grief  and  anxiety  were  so  intense  that 
she  was  attacked  by  a  fever,  and  for  many  weeks  her  life 
was  despaired  of.  Nettie  had  many  difficulties  to  contend 
with  now  ;  besides  the  care  of  her  brother,  a  wild,  careless 


42  THB  LOST  RECEIPT i   OR, 

boy  of  fifteen,  and  a  little  sister  of  ten,  she  was  obliged  to 
do  much  of  the  household  work,  for  some  of  the  servants, 
fearing  that  the  fever  was  contagious,  left  the  house,  and  no 
inducement  could  make  them  return.  She  was,  with  all  this 
labor,  sometimes  compelled  to  attend  in  the  sick-chamber. 
One  morning,  after  performing  the  usual  offices  for  her 
mother,  she  was  about  leaving  her  to  the  care  of  the  nurse 
while  she  went  to  take  a  little  rest,  that  she  might  be  able  to 
remain  up  during  the  night,  when  one  of  the  servants,  who 
had  stayed  in  the  house,  entered,  bearing  a  card.  Nettie 
glanced  at  it,  and  seeing  Fuller's  name  upon  it,  wondered 
what  his  business  could  be.  "  Ho  must  have  heard  of  mam- 
ma's illness,"  thought  she ;  "  I  wish  I  was  not  obliged  to  go 
down  to  see  him.  I  hope  his  good  manners  will  not  allow 
him  to  remain  long."  And  without  making  any  alteration 
in  her  toilet,  she  descended  to  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
found  her  visitor  impatiently  awaiting  her  appearance. 
Upon  her  entrance,  he  rose  to  greet  her,  extending  his  hand, 
which  she  accepted.  A  cold  shudder  ran  through  her  body 
while  she  held  it,  he  expressing,  in  the  meantime,  great 
sympathy  with  the  bereaved  family,  and  offering  any  assist- 
ance in  his  power.  Nettie  thanked  him,  sa3'ing  there  was 
nothing  at  present  he  could  do  that  would  render  them  any 
assistance.  After  conversing  a  few  moments  longer,  Mr. 
Fuller  concluded  his  visit  of  condolence,  and  the  drawing, 
room  again  was  free  from  his  unwelcome  presence. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  43 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DOUBTS  AND  PERPLEXITIES. 

MATTERS  were  unchanged  at  Hazel  Hill.  Mrs.  Hazel- 
ton  still  remained  in  a  dangerous  condition.  Nettie  was 
weary  with  anxiety  for  her  mother  and  incessant  worry  over 
the  affairs  of  the  house.  It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  cold, 
rainy  day  ;  she  had  just  opened  the  outer  door  to  admit  the 
doctor,  when  she  saw  Mr.  Fuller  riding  up  the  hill.  She 
knew  at  once  that  he  was  coming  to  the  house  ;  so  she  waited 
until  he  also  had  entered.  Showing  him  into  the  drawing- 
worn,  she  excused  herself  for  a  few  moments,  while  she 
accompanied  the  doctor  to  her  mother's  room.  When  she 
returned,  he  inquired  after  her  mother,  and.  then  said  he  was 
sorry  to  encroach  upon  the  privacy  of  grief  by  speaking  so 
soon  of  a  business  matter. 

"  Believe  me,  Miss  Hazelton,"  said  he,  with  a  most  dia- 
bolical grin,  "  that  I  would  never  do  so,  but  an  urgent  and 
pressing  occasion  has  positively  obliged  me  to." 

He  waited  for  her  to  make  some  remark ;  but  she  kept 
silence.  After  a  little  further  hesitation  he  proceeded. 

"Your  lamented  father,  Miss  Hazelton,  had  contracted 
some  very  extravagant  habits  ;  he  had  frequently  borrowed 
money  from  me  to  pa}'  the  bills  which  had  accumulated 
through  his  imprudence.  The  last  sum  he  borrowed  is  still 
unpaid." 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  this  sum,  Mr.  Fuller?" 

"  Six  thousand  pounds." 

"  That  bill,  Mr.  Fuller,  has  been  paid." 

Her  calmness  awed  him. 


44  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  Well,  Miss  Hazelton,  if  the  bill  has  been  paid,  there 
mast  be  a  receipt  to  prove  it." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  receipt  somewhere,  I  am  sure.  I  think 
you  will  find  your  mistake,  Mr.  Fuller,  by  looking  over  your 
books.  You  keep  an  account  of  your  business,  do  you 
not?" 

"  Certainly ;  if  it  were  not  for  my  books,  the  fact  might 
have  escaped  my  memory." 

Here  the  grin  spread  over  his  whole  countenance,  giving 
it  a  most  savage  expression. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  you  would  not  allow  the  lending  of  six 
thousand  pounds  to  escape  your  memory,  Mr.  Fuller.  Any 
way,  we  can  come  to  no  agreement  until  mamma  is  better. 
I  will  look  among  the  papers  in  the  library  to-morrow.  I 
am  sure  the  receipt  will  be  found." 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Hazelton  ;  you  will  find  that  I  am  too 
old  a  lawyer  now,  to  be  mistaken ;  your  father  had  often 
apologized  for  not  being  able  to  meet  the  bill,  and  being 
such  an  old  friend,  I  did  not  hurry  him." 

"  I  repeat  that  the  bill  is  paid,  for  it  was  I  who  advanced 
part  of  the  money  for  its  payment." 

She  said  this,  looking  at  him  keenly,  and  the  expression 
of  real  jo}'  that  lit  up  his  ferret  eyes  did  not  escape  her 
notice.  They  were  walking  through  the  hall,  and  the  last 
words  he  said  to  her  were,  — 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Miss  Hazelton,  for  speaking  upon 
an  unpleasant  subject ;  but  you  are  aware  that  your  father's 
mental  faculties  were  considerably  weakened  before  his 
death,  and  probably,  in  his  deranged  condition,  he  left  you 
under  the  false  impression  that  he  was  not  indebted  to  me. 
If,  as  you  sa}T,  it  was  part  of  your  money  that  went  towards 
paying  me,  I  never,  never  received  it." 

"  M}'  father  never  took  the  money  from  me  without  giving 
it  to  you.  I  have  that  much  faith  in  his  honor,  and  how- 
ever my  confidence  in  others  may  waver,  it  shall  remain 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  45 

firmly  established  in  my  mind  that  my  father  paid  you  what 
he  had  borrowed." 

He  did  not  like  the  words,  nor  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  uttered ;  but  least  of  all  did  he  relish  the  look  of 
loathing  which  accompanied  them.  She  held  the  door  open, 
giving  him  no  chance  of  replying.  She  bowed,  in  answer  to 
his  good-b}*,  and  immediately  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Well,"  thought  Fuller,  on  his  homeward  journey,  "  I 
am  in  luck  ;  if  she  has  given  the  money  left  her  by  the  old 
Major,  they  will  be  in  poor  circumstances  before  the  winter 
is  over,  and  there  will  be  an  opening  for  me  to  bring 
forward  my  proposition  concerning  herself ;  though  I  don't 
see  how  I  can  carry  it  through  ;  she  has  too  much  spirit  for 
me  to  master.  Never  mind,  I'll  bring  her  spirit  down  to  the 
level  of  mine  yet ;  '  might  is  right '  in  my  line  of  business, 
as  she  will  learn  when  that  receipt  is  not  found." 

That  night,  the  gas  was  lighted  in  the  libranr,  for  the  first 
time  since  Mr.  Hazelton's  death.  Nettie  was  there,  searching 
for  the  receipt.  Upon  entering  the  library,  she  noticed  that 
one  of  the  windows  was  open ;  she  remembered  that  she 
herself  had  gone  in  there  the  day  after  her  father's  funeral 
and  opened  the  window  to  admit  the  air ;  no  one  of  the 
household  had  been  there  since,  for  she  kept  the  keys  in  her 
own  possession,  and  no  one  had  called  for  them.  She 
reproached  herself  for  her  thoughtlessness  and  closed  it,  that 
she  might  not  forget  it  when  leaving  the  room.  She  set 
about  her  search  at  once,  examining  papers  and  packages, 
removing  every  article  in  the  desk,  looking  into  corners  and 
books,  till  the  gray  dawn  peeped  in  at  the  windows,  and 
finding  her  wear}-  with  her  fruitless  task,  lingered  to  throw 
his  friendly  light  on  the  vain  and  useless  search.  The 
receipt  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Poor  Nettie's  trouble  now  began.  She  sat  for  some 
moments,  indulging  in  the  most  gloomy  misgivings.  First, 
she  thought  that  her  mother  must  have  put  the  receipt  in  a 


46  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OS, 

place  of  safety ;  but  then  she  knew  her  mother  had  not 
entered  the  library  since  her  father's  illness.  Again,  she 
thought  perhaps  her  father,  feeling  his  strength  giving  way, 
and  fearing  to  rcty  upon  himself,  in  case  the  malady  by 
which  he  was  attacked  should  affect  his  mind,  had  intrusted 
his  important  papers  and  documents  to  the  care  of  Lawyer 
Warren,  his  last  agent.  Here  she  was  again  disheartened, 
by  the  remembrance  of  Mr.  Warren's  visit  a  few  daj's  ago, 
during  which  he  had  never  referred  to  any  such  transaction 
between  himself  and  her  father.  She  was  certain  that  if 
they  had  entered  into  any  arrangement  concerning  her 
father's  affairs,  the  lawyer  would  have  mentioned  it.  How- 
ever, she  concluded  to  call  upon  Mr.  Warren,  tell  him  of  the 
occurrence,  and  follow  his  directions.  This  decision  arrived 
at,  she  locked  the  library  door,  and  went  to  see  how 
her  mother  had  fared  during  the  night.  When  she  entered 
her  mother's  room  and  saw  her  pale,  patient  face,  emaciated 
by  sickness  and  suffering,  the  thought  of  what  life  would  be 
were  she  laid  with  her  father,  brought  the  tears  in  a  flood  to 
her  eyes,  and  she  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  poured  forth  her 
soul  in  prayer  to  God.  She  asked  Him,  the  Author  of  life, 
to  spare  her  mother,  whatever  else  He  might  deprive  her  of; 
an}r  sacrifice  He  might  impose  upon  her,  she  would  willingly 
bear,  for  His  dear  sake,  if  He  would  only  restore  her  raolhcr 
to  her  former  health.  She  arose  from  her  prayer  strength- 
ened and  relieved,  feeling  that  God  had  heard  and  answered 
the  outpouring  of  her  overburdened  heart.  She  bathed  her 
eyes,  and  sat  beside  the  bed  to  watch  the  unconscious 
sleeper.  Her  mother  slept,  but  it  was  a  restless,  troubled 
sleep ;  somet1'  mcs  she  started,  and  in  delirious  murmurs 
breathed  her  nusband's  name ;  then,  as  if  knowing  that  he 
would  never  again  answer  her  call,  she  broke  into  wild  and 
incoherent  muttcrings,  in  which  "  dead"  and  "grave"  and 
"  never  more,"  were  the  only  words  that  Nettie  could  under- 
etancl.  Poor  Nettie  1  her  life  for  the  last  few  weeks  had 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  47 

.been  one  continual  heartache,  and  God  alone  knew  how 
bitter  and  hard  it  was  to  bear,  and  only  He,  too,  could  tell 
how  long  it  was  to  last,  for  His  arm  alone  had  power  to 
cure  the  weariness  and  loneliness  of  her  soul.  She  needed 
strength,  indeed ;  such  strength  as  flows  in  a  rapid  and 
stead}7  stream  from  the  Source  of  all  good  ;  such  strength 
as  makes  those  who  ask  for  it,  as  Nettie  experienced, 
able  to  carry  the  cross  to  the  top  of  the  mount.  Poor  Net- 
tie !  she  had  struggled  and  suffered,  and  yet  bore  up  nobly 
against  the  increasing  darkness.  She  remained  by  her  moth- 
er's bedside,  bathing  her  aching  brow  and  cooling  the  parched 
and  feverish  lips,  until  the  nurse  whom  Nettie  had  relieved 
returned.  She  then  went  to  refresh  herself,  after  leaving  the 
instructions  concerning  her  mother  with  the  nurse,  before 
preparing  for  her  call  on  Lawyer  Warren.  When  she  was 
ready,  she  rang  the  bell,  and  upon  its  being  answered  by 
good,  faithful  James,  who  had  declared  that  he  would  see 
Nettie  safe  through  her  trouble,  she  told  him  to  harness  the 
horses  and  drive  her  to  Lawyer  Warren's  office.  Nettie 
having  remained  up  all  night,  instead  of  seeking  the  few 
hours'  rest  that  she  allowed  herself  every  night  since  her 
mother's  illness,  looked  unusually  pale  and  tired;  there 
seemed  to  be  a  weariness  in  her  air  and  manner  that  told  ol 
long  continued  dread  and  anxiety,  and  the  eyes  that  were 
always  bright  and  sparkling,  were  heavy  and  dull,  for  want 
of  rest  and  quiet ;  in  their  depths  gleamed  a  fearful  forebod- 
ing of  coming  evil.  On  reaching  the  lawyer's  office,  she  was 
obliged  to  wait  for  some  time,  Mr.  Warren  being  engaged 
with  a  gentleman  in  the  other  room.  As  soon  as  he  saw  her, 
his  kind,  genial  nature  opened  to  her  at  once.  The  distress- 
ing condition  of  mind  in  which  he  knew  she  must  be,  made 
him  gracious  and  considerate  to  her,  and  after  learning  her 
business  he  cheered  her  by  saying  that  he  was  of  the  same 
opinion  as  herself,  though  he  had  no  positive  knowledge 
that  Mr.  Hazelton  had  paid  the  bill. 


48  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;    OR, 

"  Your  father  never  consulted  me  upon  the  business,  Misa 
Hazelton  ;  he  knew  I  would  never  sanction  those  proceed- 
ings, and  therefore,  he  never  mentioned  such  subjects  to 
me ;  but  if  you  lent  money  to  him,  you  may  rest  assured 
he  never  used  it  for  an}-thing  but  what  you  intended  it 
should  be  used  for.  He  may,  perhaps,  have  been  some- 
what extravagant,  but  he  had  the  honesty  and  principle  of 
a  true  man.  That  villain,"  said  he,  his  indignation  rising, 
"  has  some  infamous  scheme  in  contemplation.  I  am  sorry 
that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  aid  you  ;  but  I  advise  you  to 
keep  quiet  and  calm,  and  to  search  again ;  for  the  receipt 
is  among  some  of  your  father's  papers,  which  in  your 
excitement  you  have  overlooked." 

Nettie  returned  home  more  annoyed  than  ever ;  for  the 
lawyer's  words,  "  That  villain  has  some  infamous  scheme  in 
contemplation,"  sounded  strangely  in  her  ears.  She  had 
often  heard  her  father  speak  of  Mr.  Warren's  judgment  and 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  she  feared  his  words  bore 
some  significance  to  the  dread  in  her  own  heart.  She 
spent  that  night  in  the  same  manner  as  the  preceding  one, 
and  the  gray  dawn  peeped  in  again  at  the  window,  and  again 
found  her  weary  with  her  useless  task.  Her  search  for  the 
receipt  was  a  vain  one.  She  discovered  that  night,  what 
in  her  excitement  the  previous  one  had  escaped  her 
notice,  that  the  v/ill  was  also  missing.  Now  she  was 
certain  that  they  were  both  together,  and  do  what  she 
would  to  stifle  the  uncharitable  thoughts  in  her  mind,  she 
could  taot  but  feel  that  Fuller  was  endeavoring,  for  some 
reasoi  of  his  own,  to  work  her  mischief.  At  last  the  morn- 
ing came ;  the  morning,  sunny  and  bright  and  warm  with 
hope  and  jo}' ;  the  morning,  that  was  the  one  ray  of  light  in 
1he  night  of  Nettie's  darkness;  the  morning,  that  brought 
tho  auower  to  her  prayer,  when  with  grateful  tears  and 
uplifted  heart  she  heard  Dr.  Moss  pronounce  her  mother  out 
of  danger.  And  Nettie's  heart  sung  its  own  "  Te  Deum," 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  49 

silent,  soft,  and  slow,  and  Heaven  alone  heard  it,  as  God 
had  heard  its  dirge  of  sorrow  in  the  "  midnight  of  its  woe." 

Mrs.  Hazelton  was  convalescent  before  Fuller  presented 
himself  again  in  the  drawing-room  of  Hazel  Hill.  There 
Nettie  found  him  one  afternoon,  just  as  she  was  going  to 
the  city  on  business.  She  came  down  prepared  for  her 
journej',  and  without  seeming  to  notice  his  apologies  for 
detaining  her,  asked  him  rather  abruptly,  if  he  had  found 
the  evidence  of  her  father's  honesty.  He  was  stunned  by 
the  question,  and  tried  hard  to  regain  his  self-possession, 
which  her  words  for  a  moment  robbed  him  of. 

"  Do  you  think  I  doubt  j*our  father's  honesty,  Miss  Hazel- 
ton?" 

"  There  is  no  need  of  entering  into  any  further  discussion 
upon  the  subject,  Mr.  Fuller ;  I  have  failed  to  find  the 
receipt,  though  I  know  one  exists,  or  has  existed.  I  cannot 
remain  for  any  argument  to-day.  You  will  oblige  me  by 
not  calling  upon  mamma ;  she  is  yet  in  a  weak  state,  and 
an}-  annoyance  or  uneasiness  may  prove  dangerous." 

"  It  is  with  you  I  have  business,  Miss  Hazelton,  that 
bears  no  reference  to  any  one  but  yourself." 

"  Well,  my  time  is  limited  to-day ;  you  must  call  at 
another  time." 

There  was  no  alternative ;  so  he  was  compelled  to  take 
his  departure. 


50  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHAT   TOM   BEATLT   SAW. 

THERE  came,  during  the  week  after  Mr.  Hazelton's  death, 
a  cloudy,  gloomy  day ;  the  sky  looked  threatening  and 
heav}r  with  rain  ;  it  made  several  attempts,  during  the  day, 
to  deposit  its  burden  on  our  unoffending  planet,  but  was 
prevented  by  some  invisible  agenc}".  But  as  evening  drew 
near,  the  rain  seemed  to  have  rebelled  against  the  highef 
power  and  burst  its  confines,  and  fell  in  torrents,  drenching 
unfortunate  pedestrians,  who  hurried  through  the  streets 
with  remai'kable  rapidity.  "When  night,  in  the  blackest  of 
robes,  descended,  the  heavens  still  showed  angry  signs  of  the 
storm.  On  this  night,  Fuller  closed  his  office  earlier  than 
was  his  custom,  and  probably  through  the  inclemency  of  the 
weather,  walked  briskly  towards  the  grand  mansion  that 
claimed  him  as  its  master.  He  did  not  regale  himself  this 
night  with  its  luxury,  but  soon  emerged  again  from  its 
shadow,  well  prepared  to  battle  with  the  storm.  He  wore  a 
a  long  coat,  almost  to  his  heels,  and  a  heavj*  rubber  hat, 
drawn  tightly  down  over  his  eyes.  The  streets  were  deserted, 
and  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  stillness  of  the  hour 
were  the  faint  murmurs  of  the  storm,  whicn  was  dying 
away,  and  the  echo  of  his  own  footsteps,  which  seemed  to 
haunt  him  with  a  nameless  fear.  He  kept  within  the  shadow 
of  the  houses,  as  far  as  they  extended,  but  his  direction 
leading  to  Hazel  Hill,  he  was  obliged  to  come  out  on  the 
road,  unfrequented,  except  by  those  who  were  going  to  or 
coming  from  the  same  place  to  which  his  own  steps  were 
tending.  When  he  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  drew  a 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS,  51 

mask  from  his  pocket,  and  when  he  reached  the  spot  directly 
under  the  library  window,  he  pulled  it  over  his  face  and  tied 
it  at  the  back  of  his  head.  He  remained  for  a  few  moments 
attentively  listening,  and  once,  thinking  that  he  heard  foot- 
steps, he  hastily  tore  the  mask  from  his  face  and  walked 
towards  the  hall  door,  as  though  he  were  going  to  call  upon 
the  inmates  of  the  house.  He  had  not  gone  far  when  he 
reassured  himself  that  it  was  only  the  wind  sighing  among 
the  trees,  and  once  again  covered  his  face  with  the  mask. 
Near  the  spot  where  he  stood  was  a  large  marble  statue  of 
Flora,  resting  upon  a  high  pedestal ;  upon  this  pedestal  he 
placed  his  foot  and  gazed  in  through  the  window  which  Nettie 
had  left  open.  Seeing  the  prospect  good,  he  rested  his  knee 
upon  the  shoulder  of  the  statue,  which  was  on  a  level  with 
the  window,  and  looking  around  once  more,  sprang  lightly 
into  the  room.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  library, 
and  went  directly  to  the  desk,  drew  a  bunch  of  keys  from 
his  pocket,  and  unlocked  it.  Every  package  he  took  to  the 
window,  and  tried,  by  the  reflection  of  the  lamp  which  hung 
in  the  hall,  to  read  its  superscription.  He  had  gone  through 
this  ceremony  with  all  but  one,  and  hearing,  or  fearing  that 
he  heard  a  sound  outside  the  door,  he  quickly  plunged  it 
into  his  pocket  and  escaped  as  he  had  entered,  through  the 
•window.  He  did  not  allow  himself  to  walk  now,  but  act- 
ually ran  across  the  lawn,  and  never  slackened  his  speed  until 
he  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Here  he  saw  directly 
in  front  of  him  the  form  of  a  man,  slowly  taking  his  way 
along  the  road.  His  first  impulse  was  to  stand  still  and 
wait  till  the  man  had  disappeared,  and  then  go  the  longest, 
though  safest  way  home.  His  design,  however,  was  frus- 
trated, and  seeing  that  the  man  was  about  to  turn  around, 
he  speedily  put  the  mask  under  his  coat  and  assumed  his 
wonted  air  of  self-possession.  The  man  waited  for  his 
approach,  and,  when  near  enough,  addressed  him  familiarly, 
saying  in  a  rough  voice,  — 


52  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

."  You  here,  Fuller ;  you  can't  be  very  busy,  or  else  there 
must  be  great  attraction  for  you  at  the  Hill." 

Mr.  Fuller,  answering  him  in  a  low  voice,  said, — 

"  I  have  been  up  to  inquire  about  Mrs.  Hazelton ;  she 
has  been  sick  since  her  husband's  death,  and  I  am  very 
anxious  about  her." 

"  You  look  not  only  anxious,  but  very  much  frightened  ; 
I  hope  the  trouble  is  not  serious  enough  to  alarm  you,"  said 
Tom  Beatly,  chuckling,  and  coming  closer  to  Fuller. 

Fuller  made  no  rep]}',  but  appeared  buried  in  thought. 
The  silence  was  unbroken  between  them  until  they  reached 
the  populated  part  of  the  town,  where  Fuller,  anxious  to  rid 
himself  of  his  companion,  told  him  he  was  obliged  to  bid 
him  good-night,  as  he  intended  calling  upon  .one  of  his 
clients,  who  had  business  of  importance  to  transact. 

"  I  hope  it  does  not  require  the  dark  to  transact  it  in  ;  it 
can't  be  very  good  business  that  needs  that ;  besides,  when 
done,  it  can't  be  relied  upon,  as  da}-light  will  show,"  was 
Tom's  response  to  Fuller's  farewell.  He  said  this  backing 
away  from  Fuller,  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  being  challenged 
to  a  duel. 

Fuller,  without  noticing  his  remarks,  disdainfully  turned 
his  back  upon  him,  and  instead  of  going  to  his  pretended 
client,  started  on  a  rapid  walk  to  his  own  home.  As  soon 
as  he  found  himself  safe  within  its  walls,  he  settled  himself 
to  enjoy  his  triumph ;  but  when  he  sought  in  his  pockets  for 
the  package  it  was  not  there.  For  some  time  he  was  almost 
stupefied  with  fear.  Thinking  he  had  lost  it  on  the  road, 
be  decided  to  go  and  look  for  it ;  but  "second  thoughts  are 
best,"  as  Fuller's  proved,  when  he  concluded  that  if  he 
dropped  the  package  it  was  picked  up  by  Tom  Beatly, 
whose  strange  words  about  business  in  the  dark  he  called  to 
mind.  Had  he  gone  to  look  for  it  his  search  would  have 
been  as  useless  as  Nettie's,  for  Tom  Beatly  had  been  an 
observer  of  Fuller's  movements  from  the  moment  he  luyj 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  53 

commenced  the  ascent  of  the  hill  until  he  encountered  him 
face  to  face  at  its  foot. 

Tom  Beatly  was  a  dissipated,  idle  fellow,  whose  con- 
science never  reproached  him ;  he  would  be  honest  or  dis- 
honest, whichever  paid  him  best  in  money.  He  had  been 
up  at  the  Hill  all  da}',  helping  James,  who,  since  the  ser- 
vants left,  found  more  to  do  than  he  could  attend  to.  When 
he  saw  Fuller  coming  towards  the  house  in  such  a  storm, 
and  disguised  as  he  was,  he  was  sure  that  he  had  some  evil 
intentions  in  his  heart. 

"  By  Jupiter,  I'll  follow  you,  old  fellow,  and  see  how  you'll 
play  your  game,"  said  Tom  to  himself.  His  resolution 
formed,  he  slipped  behind  a  tree  until  Fuller  passed  him, 
when  he  emerged  from  his  hiding-place  and  crept  along^ 
behind  the  bushes  until  Fuller  halted  under  the  library 
window.  He  watched  him  narrowly,  saw  all  his  proceed- 
ings, and  when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  Fuller  had 
committed  a  theft  of  some  kind,  he  determined  to  cheat  him 
of  his  booty,  and  enrich  himself  by  it.  "  It  takes  a  rogue 
to  catch  a  rogue,"  thougi>t  Tom,  as  he  quickened  his  steps, 
that  he  might  meet  Fuller,  as  related,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Tom,  who  was  an  adept  in  the  art  of  pocket-picking,  suc- 
ceeded in  extracting  the  package  from  Fuller's  pocket  and 
secreted  it  in  his  own,  intending  to  confront  him  with  it 
when  he  required  money. 

Fuller  took  no  steps  to  recover  what  he  had  lost,  but 
decided  that  if  Tom  Beatly  ever  mentioned  the  subject  to 
him  he  would  instantly  accuse  him  of  perpetrating  the  theft. 

A  few  clays  after  the  adventure  related,  Tom,  true  to  his 
design,  presented  himself  at  Fuller's  office.  Fuller  pre- 
tended to  be  very  much  surprised  at  seeing  him,  and  told  him 
to  state  his  business  quick!}',  as  he  was  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  you  need  not  be  so  very  much  sur- 
prised at  seeing  me  ;  I'm  thinking  you'll  be  delighted, 
you  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  you." 


54  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  lawyer,  suddenly  becoming  sociable. 

Tom  accepted  the  invitation  at  once.  When  he  was 
seated,  he  began, — 

"  You  know  the  night  you  were  up  to  the  Hill  to  inquire 
after  Mrs.  Hazclton?  Well,  after  we  parted,  I  saw,  about 
half-way  up  the  road,  something  white ;  I  went  and  picked 
it  up,  and  found  it  was  a  package,  upon  which  was  written 
Mr.  Hazelton's  name.  I  took  it  home  with  me,  and  being 
curious  to  know  what  it  contained,  I  opened  it,  and  found 
that  it  held  a  great  many  papers  signed  by  you.  I  thought 
you  might  know  something  about  it,  so  I  came  to  tell  }'ou." 

The  keen  gray  eyes  of  Fuller  closed  for  a  moment,  and 
then  opened  full  upon  Tom  with  a  searching  look. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  very  creditable  story,  Tom,  and  coming 
from  such  a  character  as  3-ourself,  is  greatly  to  be  relied 
upon  ;  you  had  better  deliver  the  package  to  me  at  once,  if 
you  wish  to  escape  punishment." 

"  Take  it  easy  now,  old  fellow,"  said  Tom  ;  "  you  stand  in 
greater  danger  of  the  gallows  than  I  do ;  3'ou  might  as  well 
not  waste  breath,  Fuller,  for  you  can't  frighten  me  with  your 
threats." 

Fuller  was  boiling  with  passion,  as  he  exclaimed,  — 

"How  dare  you  connect  my  name  with  the  gallows?  If 
you  do  not  let  me  see  those  papers  immediate!}-,  I  shall  have 
a  sheriff  after  you  sooner  than  you  dream  of." 

Tom,  nothing  daunted,  replied  in  a  calm,  sarcastic  voice  : 

"You  speak  mighty  independent,  for  a  fellow  who  was 
seen  only  a  few  nights  ago  going  in  and  coming  out  of  the 
library  window  at  Hazel  Hill ;  well  masked,  too,  for  your 
purpose.  I'll  let  you  see  the  papers  when  you  let  me  see  a  ten- 
pound  note.  I  would  tell  on  you,  Fuller,  but  you  know  '  there 
is  honor  among  thieves ' ;  perhaps  it  is  better  for  me  to  give 
the  package  to  Miss  Hazelton,  and  tell  her  how  I  got  it." 

"  You  had  better  try  that,  and  see  how  soon  you  will  find 
yourself  in  jail." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  55 

"  Oh,  if  that  happened,  I  could  easily  point  to  where  the 
reji-1  blame  lies.  You  had  better  give  me  that  ten-pound 
note,  and  be  sure  of  your  own  safety,  for  this  is  no  good  to 
me,  and  I'll  have  to  give  it  to  the  owner,  if  you  don't  buy  it." 

"  Do  you  think  your  word  will  be  taken  an}*where,  Tom  ?  " 

"  If  my  word  will  not  be  taken,  I  have  proof  enough  to 
convict  you  anyway,  for  a  note  in  your  handwriting,  signed 
with  your  name,  fell  out  of  your  pocket,  with  the  package ; 
that  you  will  never  get,  though,  for  love  or  money,  for  I 
would  not  trust  you,  Fuller,  but  that  you  would  tell  on  me, 
if  you  had  the  chance  ;  so  I  shall  keep  it  to  defend  myself." 

Fuller  battled  long  with  himself  before  he  would  give  the 
mone.y.  At  last  he  said,  — 

"  Hand  over  the  package,  and  j'ou'll  get  the  ten  pounds." 

"  By  Jupiter !  j^ou'll  have  to  hand  over  the  money  first." 

Fuller  gave  him  the  moneys  received  the  package,  and  was 
very  glad  when  Tom  left  him. 

"  Safe  once  more,"  he  muttered,  as  he  saw  the  package  in 
his  possession. 

Days  wore  into  weeks,  and  Mrs.  Hazelton  was  recovering 
her  strength.  She  had  not  left  her  room,  and  Nettie  used  to 
sit  with  her  there,  reading  or  sewing.  One  morning  she 
was  engaged  in  preparing  her  brother's  wardrobe,  —  he  was 
going  to  school  in  the  city,  —  and  her  mother  was  giving  her  a 
few  instructions  concerning  it,  when  a  servant  announced  that 
Mr.  Fuller  was  in  the  drawing-room  and  desired  to  see  Miss 
Hazelton  upon  a  very  important  matter,  not  at  all  connected 
with  business.  Mrs.  Hazelton  was  surprised,  and  asked 
Nettie  if  Fuller  had  been  in  the  habit  of  calling. 

"  He  called  several  times  to  inquire  about  you  during  your 
illness ;  I  suppose  it  is  for  the  same  reason  he  has  come 
now,"  was  her  reply. 

Nettie  found  him  in  the  drawing-room,  looking  abstract- 
edly out  of  the  window.  Hearing  her  step  near  him  he  rose, 
saying,— 


56  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  Since  my  last  visit  you  have  grown  paler  ;  I  hope  you 
are  not  annoying  yourself  about  that  troublesome  receipt. 
.Tf  we  come  to  terms,  perhaps  we  will  be  able  to  manage  it 
without  further  trouble  on  either  side." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  settle  it,  Mr.  Fuller?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Hazelton,  this  plan  which  I  propose,  was  as 
much  your  father's  wish  as  mine  ;  in  fact,  it  was  he  who  first 
spoke  of  it,  and  made  me  agree  to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife. 
I  love  no  one  but  you,  and  you  have  been,  for  a  long  time, 
the  most  sacred  treasure  of  my  heart ;  I  offer  this  heart  for 
your  acceptance  ;  if  you  agree,  all  debts  of  your  father  shall 
be  forgotten." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  compressed  lips  and  dilated  eyes  ; 
when  she  spoke,  it  was  with  mocking  emphasis. 

"Did  my  father  make  such  an  agreement  with  3'ou,  sir? 
If  he  did,  then  indeed  his  mind  must  have  been  not  only 
weakened,  but  diseased  ;  and  even  in  his  greatest  insanity, 
I  doubt  if  he  would  enter  into  such  a  compact  with  you.  I 
tell  you,  Mr.  Fuller,  I  shall  never  be  your  wife ;  so  the  most 
sacred  treasure  of  your  heart,  you  must  cast  awa}-." 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments,  which  was  broken 
by  Nettie,  who  continued,  — 

"To  be  candid  with  you,  Mr.  Fuller,  I  do  not  like  you  ; 
and  the  more  I  see  of  you,  the  stronger  my  dislike  grows." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Hazelton,  I  do  not  ask  3rou  to  like  me,  I 
ask  3'ou  to  marry  me  ;  you  will  then  love  me  in  spite  of  your- 
self. Give  me  hope  and  I  will  be  patient ;  }TOU  know  your 
happiness  depends  upon  me.  I  am  rich,  and  all  I  possess  is 
at  3'our  disposal.  If  you  refuse,  the  mansion  and  all  its  sur- 
roundings are  at  my  disposal,  and  you  ma}'  imagine  what 
shall  become  of  them." 

His  eyes  fell  as  she  turned  hers  upon  him ;  he  felt  that 
she  read  him  through,  as  she  replied,  in  scornful  tones,  — 

"  No,  Mr.  Fuller,  thank  Heaven,  m}*  happiness  does  not 
depend  upon  you.  You  have,  day  by  day,  unfolded  the 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  [tf 

meanness  of  your  character;  you  took  advantage  of  the 
time  of  trouble  to  harass  and  annoy  me ;  you  need  not  hope 
that  I  shall  ever  change  my  determination,  for  I  could  never, 
never,  learn  to  love  3"ou." 

Assuming  an  air  of  gentleness  that  seemed  to  Nettie 
bordering  on  the  ludicrous,  he  said,  — 

"  Perhaps,  Miss  Hazelton,  I  have  been  a  little  too  hasty, 
but  my  meaning  was  good,  better  than  my  words  expressed  : 
you  may  need  my  friendship  yet,  though  }-ou  reject  it  now. 
You  seem  a  little  nervous,  this  afternoon ;  I  advise  you  to 
think  over  the  matter  and  its  consequences.  Good-after- 
noon." 

Nettie  thought  that  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  drawing- 
room  partook  of  his  hateful  presence  ;  she  felt  as  if  it  were 
choking  her,  and  his  departure  gave  her  the  greatest  relief. 


58  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

PLANS   FOR   THE   FUTUBE. 

THE  cold,  bleak  winter  was  at  an  end  ;  the  warm,  sunny 
days  of  spring  brought  strength  and  health  to  Mrs.  Hazel- 
ton.  All  this  time  Nettie  had  been  happy,  because  Fuller's 
shadow  had  not  once  darkened  her  pathway.  She  had 
been  expecting  a  visit  from  him,  and  could  not  understand 
•why  he  deferred  it ;  she  knew,  however,  that  he  would  not 
remain  away  much  longer,  and  thought  it  best  to  prepare 
her  mother  for  his  visit.  So  she  told  her,  one  evening  when 
they  were  alone,  all  the  circumstances  which  had  transpired 
during  her  illness.  Mrs.  Hazelton  was  much  surprised  by 
what  her  daughter  told  her ;  but  decided  to  make  no  in- 
quiries until  Fuller  should  call,  and  then  see  what  an  inter- 
view would  bring  forth. 

The  ensuing  week  proved  Nettie's  surmises  correct,  for 
during  it  Fuller  presented  himself  for  Mrs.  Hazelton's 
inspection.  After  the  usual  greeting,  the  lawyer  made 
known  the  object  of  his  visit,  using,  when  persuasion  failed, 
the  same  threats  that  he  had  to  her  daughter.  She  very 
quietl}T  informed  him  that  what  he  unjustly  claimed  had 
already  been  paid. 

"  Then,  madam,  you  refuse  to  comply  with  my  request  in 
regard  to  }-our  daughter  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,  sir ;  with  my  consent,  my  daughter  shall 
never  be  your  wife." 

"  Perhaps  you.  will  be  sorry,  when  it  is  too  late." 

The  haughty  blood  of  Major  Goff  was  flowing  in  her 
veins  ;  and  drawing  herself  proudly  up,  she  answered, — 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  59 

"  Do  j'our  worst ;  I  seek  no  mercy  at  the  hands  of  one 
who  knows  not  even  the  principles  of  justice.  You  have 
adopted  this  diabolical  scheme  to  gain  my  daughter ;  for  in 
your  heart,  if  you  have  any,  you  know  you  are  unjustly 
claiming  what  does  not  belong  to  you." 

"  Very  well,  madam  ;  the  bill  shall  be  paid  to  me  at  once." 

"  You  have  your  answer,  sir ;  so  I  hope  this  interview  has 
closed." 

He  parted  from  her  with  an  angry  flush  upon  his  face, 
resolving  in  his  heart  to  make  the  inmates  of  Hazel  Hill  feel 
the  effects  of  his  power. 

A  few  days  after  the  above  occurrence,  Mrs.  Hazelton 
called  upon  Lawyer  Warren,  who  told  her  to  let  Fuller  take 
possession  of  the  mansion,  and  to  go  with  her  family  to  live 
at  Oakdale  Cottage  ;  it  was  her  daughter's,  and  Fuller  could 
not  claim  it.  "  I  will  look  after  him,  and  I  assure  you  it 
will  cost  him  more  than  he  thinks,  before  I  get  through  with 
him,"  was  the  lawyer's  concluding  remark. 

Fuller,  in  a  few  weeks,  executed  his  threat,  and  Mrs. 
Hazelton,  with  her  two  children,  —  Leonard  being  at  school, 
—  was  obliged  to  leave  their  luxurious  home  and  dwell  in 
the  "  Cottage."  Margaret  and  James,  two  faithful  old  ser- 
vants, who  volunteered  their  services  while  they  lived, 
accompanied  them.  They  took  with  them  several* pieces  of 
the  drawing-room  furniture  and  three  or  four  old  paintings, 
the  property  of  Mrs.  Hazelton.  Nettie  thought  she  never 
could  get  accustomed  to  the  change.  During  the  first  few 
weeks  after  their  removal,  she  was  very  bus}T,  arranging  the 
furniture  of  the  "Cottage "  to  the  best  advantage.  It  soon 
bore  a  cheerful  aspect ;  in  front  was  a  small  but  beautiful 
garden,  carefully  weeded  by  Nettie's  own  hands ;  creeping 
vines  trailed  gracefully  over  the  door  and  windows  ;  and  a 
stand  filled  with  some  of  the  rarest  plants  which  had  beauti- 
fied Nettie's  own  room  at  the  Hill,  now  stood  in  the  parlor 
•window  of  the  "  Cottage."  Nettie  tried  hard  to  forget  the 


60  THE  LOST  RECEIPT i   OR, 

dear  old  home  she  had  left,  and  the  injustice  of  him  who 
had  deprived  her  of  it.  She  cared  for  nothing  now,  but  to 
see  her  mother  happy  and  cheerful.  Mrs  Hazelton,  though 
her  heart  was  breaking,  endeavored  to  satisfy  her  daughter's 
only  wish. 

The}r  had  lived  two  months  at  the  "  Cottage,"  when  one 
evening,  Nettie  being  alone  with  her  mother,  said,  — 

"  Mamma,  I  have  thought  of  a  plan  by  which  I  will  be 
able  to  assist  3-ou  in  paying  for  Leonard's  education.  You 
know  he  will  soon  be  fit  to  enter  college,  and  his  expenses 
then  will  be  double  what  they  are  now.  You  know  I  have  a 
remarkable  taste  for  painting,  and  three  months'  study  under 
the  careful  teaching  of  Professor  Mason  would  enable  me  to 
earn  my  living  by  it.  If  you  agree,  mamma,  I  would  consult 
with  Professor  Mason,  who,  I  am  sure  would  encourage  my 
plan." 

Mrs.  Hazelton  was  silent  for  some  moments,  and  then 
said, — 

"  My  darling  Nettie,  I  am  well  aware  of  your  talents ; 
but  how  can  I  bear  the  separation  ?  " 

"  It  will  not  be  much  of  a  separation,  mamma ;  I  will  be 
home  every  Saturday,  and  remain  until  Monday  ;  it  will  be 
much  better  for  us  all,  in  the  end." 

"  Yes,  Nettie,  it  will  be  much  better,  and  I,  too,  can  earn 
a  little.  There  is  much  need  of  a  school  in  this  neighbor- 
hood ;  I  intend  to  open  one,  for  I  am  sure  I  shall  succeed. 
We  will  fit  the  front  room  up  stairs  for  a  school-room,  before 
you  leave  me.  It  is  not  right  to  live  in  idleness,  because  we 
have  much  to  do  now  with  our  small  income." 

"  But,  mamma,  will  you  not  find  it  hard  work?" 

"  No,  my  darling ;  it  will  wean  my  thoughts  from  the 
p  as,  which  will  be  a  great,  great  rest  to  me." 

So  the  school  at  Oakdale  was  opened,  and  Mrs.  Hazelton 
had  more  pupils  than  she  expected.  Nettie  entered  Pro- 
fessor Mason's  academy ;  he  was  delighted  to  receive  the 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  01 

pupil  whose  genius  he  had  prized  so  highly  while  under  his 
previous  teaching.  When  the  three  months  had  expired, 
Professor  Mason  provided  a  situation  for  Nettie  at  Major 
Sargeant's,  where  we  first  became  acquainted  with  her. 

Hazel  Hill  was  sold ;  Fuller  engaged  one  of  his  friends 
to  purchase  it ;  he  did  not  wish  to  have  it  known  that  he 
bought  it  himself.  Whenever  Tom  Beatly  needed  money  he 
applied  to  Fuller,  and  if  he  refused,  he  threatened  him  with 
exposure.  Angry  words  often  passed  between  them ;  but 
Fuller  was  always  obliged  to  satisfy  Tom's  demands.  At 
last  he  hired  him  to  take  care  of  his  horses,  for  which  he 
paid  him  well.  But  he  was  in  the  greatest  trouble  whenever 
Tom  was  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and  was  compelled 
to  keep  a  sharp  eye  upon  him,  for  Tom's  tongue  was  very 
free  on  such  occasions. 


62  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

CHAPTER  EX. 

THE    RESCUE. 

NETTIE  remained  with  the  Sargeants  until  the  middle  of 
December,  when  she  went  to  spend  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  with  her  mother.  As  the  cars  stopped  at  the  station, 
her  heart  bounded  with  delight  when  she  saw  the  familiar 
face  of  James,  looking  eagerly  for  her  in  the  crowd.  In  a 
moment  she  was  on  the  platform,  with  both  her  hands  in  his. 
He  looked  affectionately  upon  her,  and  thought  he  had  never 
seen  her  look  so  beautiful.  Fuller,  who  had  learned  from 
Tom  Beatly  that  Nettie  was  to  arrive  that  afternoon,  wit- 
nessed the  meeting.  As  James  released  her  hands,  Fuller 
stepped  forward,  extending  his  hand.  She  gazed  at  him  in 
amazement,  and  without  even  noticing  the  proffered  hand, 
turned  to  James,  telling  him  that  she  was  ready.  James, 
highly  enjoying  Fuller's  disappointment  and  vexation,  opened 
the  carriage-door,  assisted  her  in,  and  drove  rapidly  away, 
leaving  Fuller  to  indulge  his  own  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Hazelton  was  standing  at  the  window,  with  her  little 
daughter  Bertha,  who  was  the  first  to  see  the  carriage  ;  she 
bounded  away  from  her  mother's  side,  and  ran  to  the  gate 
to  meet  it.  When  Nettie  alighted,  she  overwhelmed  her 
with  caresses.  At  the  front  door,  her  mother  was  waiting 
for  her ;  so  she  released  her  sister,  and  went  to  receive  her 
mother's  warm  embrace.  They  were  very  happy  together 
that  evening,  and  talked  mostly  of  Leonard,  who  was  to 
arrive  in  a  few  daj-s.  While  they  were  conversing,  the  bell 
rang,  and  James's  voice  was  heard  telling  some  one  that  he 
would  not  allow  him  to  enter ;  that  Miss  Hazelton  was 
tired  from  her  journej-,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  intruded 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS,  63 

upon.  After  a  few  more  words,  James  knocked  at  the  par- 
lor door,  and  being  told  to  enter,  announced  that  "Old 
Fuller,"  as  he  disdainfully  called  him,  wished  to  see  Miss 
Hazelton. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  any  one  to-night,  James,  and  I 
never  wish  him  to  call  upon  me  at  any  time,"  said  Nettie. 

"  And  James,"  added  Mrs.  Hazelton,  "  whenever  he  ap- 
plies for  admission,  you  need  never  answer  his  call." 

James  delivered  his  message  with  remarkable  accuracy, 
and  Fuller  ungraciously  submitted,  for  that  time,  to  the 
sentence. 

Leonard  came  to  spend  his  vacation  with  his  mother  and 
sisters.  He  was  a  merry  young  fellow  of  eighteen,  and  his 
presence  greatly  increased  their  joy.  They  were  having 
what  Leonard  termed  a  "  superb  "  time,  when  the  evil  pres- 
ence that  forever  haunted  Nettie's  brightest  hours  once 
again  marred  the  pleasure  of  her  home.  She  and  her 
mother  were  seated  one  afternoon  in  the  pleasant  little  par- 
lor whose  windows  faced  the  lawn.  They  were  discussing 
various  matters,  when  the  gate  opened,  and  Fuller  walked 
ap  to  the  door  and  rang  for  admittance.  But  James,  true 
to  his  instructions,  did  not  answer  his  summons.  He  was 
about  ringing  the  second  time,  when  Leonard,  who  had  just 
returned  from  fishing,  appeared,  and  demanded  in  stern 
tones  what  his  business  was. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Hazelton,"  he  replied. 

"  You  cannot  sec  her." 

"  I  must  see  her." 

Leonard  did  not  wait  for  another  word,  but  caught  up  the 
fishing-rod  and  dealt  him  a  heavy  blow  across  the  face. 
The  blow  was  so  unexpected  that  he  did  not  have  time  to 
ward  off  a  second  one.  He  retreated  a  step  or  two,  his 
face  livid  with  rage. 

u  Sir,"  said  Fuller,  "  this  outrage  shall  not  go  unpunished. 
We  shall  meet  again." 


64  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  Yes,  when  I  am  better  prepared,  ywi  miserable  coward. 
If  3'ou  dare  to  enter  that  gate  again,  or  give  us  any  more 
annoyance  by  your  presence,  you  will  do  it  at  your  peril." 

Fuller  left  him  without  replying,  but  vowed  in  his  heart 
to  wreak  vengeance  upon  Leonard  Hazelton.  "  He  is  the 
image  of  his  father,"  he  mused,  as  he  sauntered  along,  "  and 
I  dislike  him  all  the  more  for  it.  Whatever  the  conse- 
quences may  be,  Nettie  Hazelton  shall  yet  be  my  wife." 

Mrs.  Hazelton  did  not  approve  of  her  son's  hasty  conduct. 

"Leonard,  my  son,  you.  are  too  impulsive.  This  was 
real  rudeness  on  your  part.  You  must  endeavor  to  control 
your  temper,"  said  she. 

"Well,  mother,  if  it  were  anybody  else  but  Fuller,  I 
could  easily  control  my  temper.  I  am  certain  he  will  pa}r 
no  more  visits  to  the  cottage  while  I  am  in  town.  I'll  settle 
him  some  time." 

Nettie,  thinking  the  Sargeants  intended  travelling  again  in 
the  spring,  wrote  to  inform  them  that  her  mother  needed  her 
assistance  at  home,  and,  if  convenient  for  them,  she  would 
consider  their  engagement  at  an  end.  They  were  very  sorry 
to  part  with  her,  for  they  had  hoped  she  would  accompany 
them.  Nettie,  of  course,  would  never  accept  such  a  pro- 
posal, involving,  as  it  did,  a  long  separation  from  her 
mother.  So  they  acceded  to  her  wishes,  and  closed  the 
engagement.  Leonard  returned  to  college,  and  Nettie  found 
plenty  to  occupy  her  time  in  helping  her  mother  in  the 
school-room.  During  the  winter,  she  received  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Graham,  Judge  Graham's  wife.  They  were  intimate 
friends  of  the  Sargeants,  and  Nettie  had  often  seen  them 
there.  The  letter  read  thus : — 

"  Miss  HAZELTON, — If  you  are  not  already  engaged,  and  if  agree- 
able to  you,  I  wish  you  would  give  us  at  least  oue  year  of  your  ser- 
vice. Any  sum  you  desire  shall  bo  paid.  If  this  meets  your  ap- 
proval, please  let  me  know  when  we  may  expect  you. 

"  Yours,  respectfully,  MRS   G.  W.  GKAHAM." 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  65 

Nettie  urged  her  mother  to  give  up  the  school,  and  let 
her  salary  pay  their  expenses ;  but  Mrs.  Ilazelton  was  de- 
termined to  work,  so  Nettie's  entreaties  and  persuasions 
were  of  no  avail.  The  arrangement  suiting  her,  she  accepted 
Mrs.  Graham's  invitation.  Belvidere  Hall,  or  "Belvidere," 
as  it  was  usually  called,  was  a  beautiful  residence,  and  no 
pains  had  been  spared  in  adding  to  its  magnificence.  The 
judge  and  his  wife  were  most  agreeable  people,  and  Nettie 
felt  sure  she  would  be  happy  with  them.  Her  pupil  was  a 
young  lady  of  eighteen,  named  Helena  Graham :  tall  and 
rather  slight,  like  her  mother,  with  an  agreeable  manner 
and  a  prepossessing  appearance,  she  was  also  intelligent, 
and  was  of  superior  judgment.  She  had  a  remarkable  tal- 
ent for  music,  and  an  excellent  taste  in  drawing.  When 
Nettie's  year  had  expired,  the  Grahams  had  become  so 
attached  to  her,  they  requested  her  to  remain  another  j-ear. 

During  the  winter  season,  she  had  often  heard  of  the 
Blayres,  through  the  press,  in  which  their  names  were  con- 
spicuous among  those  who  moved  in  fashionable  society. 
The}r  had  spent  the  winter  in  London,  and,  in  the  spring, 
were  going  to  Paris.  Rumors  were  afloat  that  Mr.  Blayre, 
now  master  of  Hamilton  Lodge,  was  engaged  to  the  great 
London  belle,  Aclele  Bouford,  the  granddaughter  of  Sir 
Thomas  Bouford. 

Judge  Graham  was  obliged  to  go  to  London,  on  business 
matters.  He  met  the  Blayres,  and  had  dined  with  them. 
When  he  returned  home,  they  were  on  their  way  to  Paris. 
He  was  obliged  to  relate  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard 
during  his  six  weeks'  sojourn  in  London.  Lena,  who  was 
very  impatient  to  hear  everything  of  the  great  cit}',  asked 
him  a  dozen  questions  before  he  had  time  to  answer  one. 

"  Is  it  true,  papa,  that  Miss  Bouford  is  engaged  to  Mr. 
Blayre?"  she  asked. 

"  That  is  what  I  understood  from  those  most  interested  in 
them." 


66  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

Nettie  listened  to  all  that  was  said,  without  the  least 
trace  of  emotion  ;  but  when  she  reached  her  own  room,  a 
flood  of  memories  rushed  through  her  mind,  and  almost 
overwhelmed  her  with  its  bitterness.  So,  she  mused,  the 
rumors  are  true ;  the  judge's  statement  confirms  them.  I 
kuew  he  would  soon  forget  me.  In  the  midst  of  pleasure 
and  fashion,  however,  I  am  glad  that  I  pledged  nyself  to  no 
engagement.  I  must  forget  him,  though,  I  confess,  I  love 
him.  The  next  morning,  she  appeared  at  the  breakfast- 
table  as  charming  as  ever. 

The  winter  rolled  on  pleasantly  at  Belvidere  Hall.  Spring 
and  summer  brought  a  change  to  Mrs.  Hazelton.  Nettie 
received  a  letter  from  her  mother,  stating  that  she  was  not 
feeling  well,  and  urging  her  to  return  home,  as  Leonard  was 
spending  his  vacation  at  home,  and  her  presence  would 
make  it  more  agreeable  for  him.  Lena  Graham  had  become 
so  attached  to  Nettie  that  she  coaxed  her  to  stay  with  her  a 
month  longer.  So  it  was  at  the  close  of  the  summer  that 
Nettie  found  herself  ready  to  say  farewell. 

The  cars  stopped  at  the  station  ;  she  alighted,  but  saw  no 
trace  of  James  or  Leonard.  She  followed  her  first  impulse, 
and  went  into  the  post-office  to  learn  if  her  letter  had  been 
called  for.  There  she  was  told  that  her  letter  had  been 
delivered  two  days  before.  A  thousand  fears  took  pos- 
session of  her ;  she  thought  of  her  mother's  illness,  and 
accused  herself  of  great  neglect  in  not  coming  home  sooner. 
She  did  not  wait  long  at  the  station,  but  at  a  quick  pace 
hastened  on  her  way.  She  did  not  think  of  the  lateness  of 
the  hour,  or  the  distance  she  had  to  go  ;  her  only  thoughts 
were  of  "  home,  and  mother."  She  had  dark  forebodings, 
strange  feelings,  that  she  could  not  account  for.  The  sun 
had  sunk  low  in  the  west,  and  the  shades  of  night  were 
gathering  fast,  as  she  entered  the  woods,  which  darkened 
the  road  on  either  side.  She  was  hurrying  on,  when  a  man 
sprang  from  the  thicket,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  pushed 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  67 

her  into  a  close  carriage.  The  man  was  masked.  This  was 
done  so  suddenly  that  Nettie  had  no  time  to  offer  any  re- 
sistance ;  but  when  she  had  recovered  from  her  fright, 
scream  after  scream  rent  the  air.  A  handkerchief,  saturated 
with  chloroform,  was  held  to  her  mouth,  to  prevent  her 
screams  from  being  heard.  The  horses  were  about  to  start, 
when  the  driver  received  a  blow  that  knocked  him  senseless  ; 
the  next  instant,  the  carriage-door  was  thrown  open,  and 
she  was  about  to  be  rescued,  when  her  deliverer  received  a 
shot  from  a  pistol,  which  prevented  him  from  rendering  fur- 
ther assistance.  "With  an  exclamation  of  pain,  he  fell  to 
the  ground.  The  masked  villain  was  about  to  fire  the 
second  time,  so  as  to  complete  his  work,  when  Nettie,  whom 
the  fresh  air  had  revived,  caught  him  by  the  wrist,  and  his 
arm  swerved  from  its  aim.  She  renewed  her  screams,  hop- 
ing they  might  reach  some  one  in  the  cottage.  Her  hopes 
were  not  groundless,  for  she  recognized  Leonard's  shrill 
whistle,  and  the  barking  of  Sailor,  the  old  dog,  gave  her 
double  strength.  She  fought  hard  with  her  antagonist,  tried 
to  tear  off  his  mask,  but  failed  in  the  attempt.  He  got  out 
of  the  carriage,  and,  seeing  that  his  driver  was  unable  to  be 
of  much  service  to  him,  did  his  best  to  fasten  Nettie  in  ;  but 
he  knew,  by  the  barking  of  the  dog,  which  sounded  nearer 
and  nearer,  that  assistance  was  at  hand.  He  had  no  desire 
to  meet  with  Leonard  Hazelton,  so  he  deemed  it  prudent  to 
relinquish  his  prize,  and  secure  his  own  safety.  He  helped 
the  driver  into  the  carnage,  mounted  the  box,  and  drove 
away  with  great  speed,  just  as  Leonard  and  his  dog  arrived 
upon  the  scene. 

"  Oh,  Leonard,  thank  Heaven  that  you  have  come ;  I  am 
afraid  he  is  dead." 

"By  Jupiter!  Nettie,  my  sister,  is  this  you?  How 
came  }-ou  here?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me  any  questions,  Leonard  ;  you  will  hear 
all  in  due  time.  Run  for  a  doctor,  or  for  some  one  who  will 
be  of  use." 


68  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  And  leave  3-011  here  alone !  Who  is  he?" 
"  I  do  not  know,  but  he  has  rendered  me  good  service." 
Leonard  tore  a  leaf  from  his  diary,  scribbled  a  few  words 
upon  it,  for  it  was  so  dark  that  he  could  scarcely  see,  and, 
after  pinning  it  upon  the  ribbon  which  Nettie  had  taken 
from  her  bonnet,  tied  it  around  Sailor's  neck.  Leonard 
patted  him  on  the  head,  saying,  "  Now,  Sailor,  make  good 
haste  ;  take  this  note  to  James."  The  dog  was  faithful  and 
intelligent,  and,  after  licking  his  master's  hand,  bounded  off. 
When  he  reached  the  cottage,  he  barked  loudly  at  the 
kitchen  door.  It  was  opened  by  James,  who  had  come  in 
a  few  minutes  previous.  When  the  dog  was  admitted,  he 
growled  and  jumped  upon  James,  who,  noticing  the  note, 
took  it  off  and  read  it.  He  saw  that  it  was  signed,  "  Leon- 
ard." My  poor  young  master,  thought  he,  has  met  with 
some  accident.  Faithful  Sailor  led  the  way,  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  James,  the}*  brought  the  insensible  man,  as 
gently  as  the}'  possibly  could,  to  the  cottage. 

Mrs.  Hazelton  was  unprepared  for  the  scene  that  met  her 
eyes.  The  sight  of  her  daughter,  whom  she  did  not  expect 
home,  with  her  hands  and  dress  stained  with  blood,  was 
more  than  she  could  bear,  in  her  weakened  state ;  it  was 
quite  a  shock  to  her  nervous  system,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  she  recovered  herself.  James  was  immediately  de- 
spatched for  Dr.  Moss,  the  family  physician.  The  doc- 
tor extracted  the  ball,  dressed  the  wound,  and  pronounced 
the  patient  in  a  critical  condition,  from  the  loss  of  so  much 
blood,  but  thought  that,  by  great  care,  he  had  a  fair  chance 
of  recovery.  He  administered  a  powder,  and,  before  he  left, 
the  patient  was  resting  quietly.  During  the  night,  Nettie 
related  what  had  happened.  After  her  long  journey,  she 
was  very  tirad,  yet  she  could  not  be  persuaded  to  retire. 
Both  she  and  Leonard  watched  the  patient  unwearyingly ; 
she  bathed  his  forehead  and  moistened  his  lips  occasionally, 
as  the  doctor  had  ordered. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS, 


CHAPTER   X. 

HAMILTON'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

EVER  since  Miss  Hazelton  went  to  "Belvidere  Hall," 
Fuller  kept  track  of  her  letters ;  he  knew  every  word  they 
contained.  For  this  privilege  he  had  paid  the  postmaster  a 
handsome  sum.  He  intercepted  the  one  she  wrote  to  Leon- 
ard, telling  him  to  meet  her  at  the  station ;  he  destroyed 
the  letter,  and  sent  Tom  Beatly  and  his  chum,  a  villain  like 
himself,  to  capture  Miss  Hazelton.  They  were  to  bring  her 
to  a  certain  house,  where  he  would  meet  them ;  he  would 
pretend  that  he  had  rescued  her  from  their  hands,  and  would 
offer  to  take  her  to  his  mansion ;  he  assured  himself  that 
she  would  gladly  accept  his  hospitality.  Within  the  walla 
of  his  own  house  he  would  have  a  clergyman  on  hand  to 
perform  the  marriage  ceremon}',  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses. His  wealth  and  study  would  then  be  entirely  de- 
voted to  the  welfare  of  her  whom  he  so  madly  loved,  and 
his  evil  face  lit  up  with  a  smile  as  he  contemplated  his  future 
happiness.  In  his  villanous  scheme  he  was  disappointed, 
as  we  have  already  learned.  When  the  carriage  returned 
without  its  occupant,  he  accused  the  men  of  neglect,  and 
declared  that,  if  they  had  performed  their  work  well,  they 
would  not  have  let  her  escape,  once  she  was  inside  the  car- 
riage. He  would  accept  no  apology  the}'  might  offer. 

By  the  morning,  Nettie  was  much  exhausted,  and  gladly 
sought  repose,  the  moment  she  was  relieved  by  her  mother. 
The  patient  had  rested  well  during  the  night.  Once  or  twice 
he  muttered  something  they  did  not  understand. 


70  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

Mrs.  Hazelton  was  very  anxious  to  learn  his  name.  By 
his  appearance  and  dress,  he  was  evidently  a  gentleman. 
Upon  his  little  finger  he  wore  an  expensive  diamond,  and 
carried  on  his  person  an  elegant  hunting-case  watch  ;  but  the}' 
found  nothing  that  gave  them  any  information  regarding  his 
name.  When  Mrs.  Hazelton  was  alone  with  him  she  drew 
back  the  curtains  to  admit  a  little  more  light ;  he  was  very 
pale ;  his  eyes  were  closed  ;  but  his  breathing  was  regular. 
As  she  gazed  at  him,  her  soul  was  thrilled  with  a  sad,  far-off 
memory  that  struggled  from  the  shadow  of  by-gone  years 
into  the  light  of  the  present.  He  reminded  her  of  her 
father,  as  she  had  known  him  before  years  and  sorrow  and 
care  had  made  him  old  and  gray.  In  her  heart  she  felt 
something  more  than  the  gratitude  which  she  owed  the 
stranger ;  it  was  a  feeling  that  she  had  no  power  to  repress  ; 
a  feeling  stronger  than  gratitude,  nearer  than  common 
friendship. 

While  Leonard  was  eating  his  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing, James  came  rushing  into  the  dining-room,  almost  shout- 
ing,— 

"  Master  Leonard,  that  young  gentleman  was  a  visitor  at 
the  Hill ;  I  met  one  of  the  servants,  who  told  me  that  they 
were  out  all  night  searching  for  him." 

u  Did  you  tell  him  that  he  was  here,  James?" 

"Not  a  word  did  I  tell  him,  Master  Leonard,"  James 
replied. 

"  Well,  James,  I  thought  you  would  know  enough  for 
that." 

He  did  not  wait  to  finish  his  breakfast,  but  took  his  hat 
and  hastened  the  nearest  way  to  Hazel  Hill.  It  was  a  dis- 
tance of  two  miles,  and  since  Leonard  had  left  it,  four  years 
previous,  he  had  never  crossed  the  lawn.  Without  looking 
on  cither  side,  he  bounded  up  the  steps  and  knocked  at  the 
hall  door,  so  familiar  to  him.  His  knock  was  answered  by 
a  servant,  who  politely  asked  him  to  step  into  the  drawing- 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  71 

room.  Leonard  was  not  naturally  sentimental,  yet  he  saw 
enough  to  bring  back  sad  recollections  of  the  past. 

"  My  business  is  of  the  utmost  importance ;  please  lose 
no  time  in  delivering  my  card,"  said  he  to  the  servant. 

The  servant  obeyed,  and  Mr.  Lawrence,  a  portly-looking 
gentleman,  with  a  good-natured  face,  greeted  Leonard,  who 
delivered  his  message  promptly  and  took  his  leave. 

"  A  fine-looking  fellow,"  thought  Mr.  Lawrence  ;  "  strange 
that  he  lives  so  near  and  I  have  never  met  him.  I  have 
often  wondered  what  kind  of  people  there  were  at  the  cot- 
tage ;  they  live  so  secluded."  He  was  not  aware  that  Leon- 
ard was  born  in  the  very  house  which  he  now  occupied. 
Mr.  Lawrence  ordered  William  to  saddle  Black  Bess,  as  she 
could  go  the  fastest,  and  before  Leonard  reached  home  a 
gentleman  presented  himself  at  the  cottage  door.  He 
handed  his  card  to  Margaret,  who  took  it  to  Mrs.  Hazel  ton  ; 
she  read  the  name,  Hamilton  Blayrc,  and  went  to  receive  him. 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  bowing  respectfully,  "  I  have  come 
from  Mr.  Lawrence's,  to  inquire  about  my  friend,  Mr.  Sey- 
mour." 

"  Mr.  Seymour,"  she  repeated,  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  his 
name  :  you  would  like  to  see  him,  I  suppose." 

He  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  she  led  the  way  to  the 
chamber. 

For  some  time  Hamilton  gazed  upon  the  suffering  face  of 
his  friend,  Walter  Seymour.  Since  they  were  boys,  they  had 
been  bosom  friends  ;  no  brothers  could  be  more  affectionate. 
While  Hamilton  was  present  Dr.  Moss  called  to  learn  the 
patient's  condition.  After  he  had  examined  the  wound,  he 
did  not  look  upon  the  case  as  seriously  as  he  had  the  previ- 
ous night ;  he  assured  his  friends  that  by  good  care  he  would 
recover. 

"  It  is  the  influence  of  the  powder  which  I  administered 
that  has  so  stupefied  him ;  he  had  a  very  narrow  escape 
from  death,"  said  the  doctor 


72  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  I  am  glad  that  he  will  recover,  for  his  parents'  sake  ;  he 
is  their  only  child.  I  beg  you  to  pa}r  him  every  attention  ; 
if  he  is  restored  to  us,  you  will  be  amply  rewarded,"  Hamil- 
ton rejoined. 

"  I  assure  you  he  will  not  be  neglected  ;  he  will  find  kind 
and  faithful  friends  in  Mrs.  Hazelton  and  her  daughter." 

Mr.  Blayre  was  very  curious  to  see  the  young  lady  in 
whose  behalf  Walter  had  acted  so  nobly.  The  name  of 
Hazelton  was  dear  to  him, — in  fact,  the  name  nearest  his 
heart ;  but  the  object  of  his  curiosity  was  not  present,  and, 
in  company  with  Dr.  Moss,  he  left  the  cottage.  Hamilton 
made  some  inquiries  concerning  Mrs.  Hazelton's  daughter, 
and  Dr.  Moss,  who  had  known  her  from  childhood,  related 
the  circtrmstances  by  which  the  family  had  been  deprived  of 
their  former  splendor  and  magnificence.  Hamilton  felt  sure 
that  it  was  the  same  Nettie  whom  he  would  give  all  he 
possessed  to  see.  He  called  again  at  noon,  but  saw  no 
glimpse  of  Miss  Hazelton.  This  visit  was  short,  but  before 
going  he  asked  permission  of  Mrs.  Hazelton  to  remain  that 
night  to  watch  by  his  friend. 

" Thank  you,  Mr.  Blayre,  for  offering  yourself;  you  will 
be  of  great  service  to  us ;  you  look  as  if  you  would  make  a 
good  nurse,  and  I  am  sure  }*ou  would  be  an  attentive  one," 
she  answered  with  a  smile.  The  more  she  saw  of  Hamilton, 
the  more  she  grew  to  like  him.  So  it  was  arranged  that 
he  was  to  remain  all  night  to  watch  over  his  friend  ;  yet  to 
serve  his  friend  was  not  his  only  object.  He  could  not  rest 
until  he  had  seen  Nettie ;  he  was  almost  positive  that  she 
•was  the  same  Nettie  he  had  parted  from  at  Rosebank  more 
than  two  years  before. 

Noon  came,  and  Nettie  still  slept ;  the  clock  struck  three, 
and  yet  she  slumbered.  Five  o'clock  was  their  dinner  hour, 
and  Mrs.  Ilazelton  could  not  dine  comfortably  without  her 
daughter ;  :t  was  so  long  since  Nettie  had  dined  with  them, 
that  she  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  for  all  to  see  her  at 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  73 

the  table.  She  stole  softly  to  her  room,  stooped  and  kissed 
the  slumberer,  who  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  up  greatly 
surprised.  Then  recollecting  herself  she  asked,  hurriedly,  — 

"  How  is  the  gentleman,  mamma?" 

"  Dr.  Moss  said  this  morning,  my  dear,  that  he  was  out 
of  danger,  and  that  by  care  he  would  soon  be  well." 

Nettie  made  a  hasty  toilet,  and  was  soon  ready  for  dinner, 
which  was  served  a  little  earlier  on  her  account.  When 
the  meal  was  over,  she  went  to  the  chamber  to  relieve  her 
sister,  who  had  acted  as  nurse  for  the  previous  half-hour, 
for  they  did  not  wish  to  leave  him  alone  a  moment.  As  she 
entered  the  room,  her  e}-e  rested  on  Hamilton  Blayre's  card, 
and  she  asked  how  it  came  there. 

"One  of  Mr.  Seymour's  friends  called  to  see  him  this 
morning ;  I  suppose  that  is  his  card,"  said  her  sister. 

"  Mr.  Seymour ! "  exclaimed  Nettie  in  astonishment. 

She  drew  back  the  curtain,  and  the  light  fell  full  upon 
him.  She  had  not  seen  him  till  now  by  daylight ;  she  did 
not  recognize  him  as  the  Walter  she  had  once  known. 
He  was  greatly  changed ;  much  thinner,  and  his  face  was 
covered  with  a  beard ;  the  deadly  whiteness  of  his  counte- 
nance left  no  trace  of  recognition.  Her  heart  grew  sad  as 
she  thought  of  the  merry,  light-hearted  fellow  he  was ;  and 
now  he  lay  still  and  motionless,  all  for  her.  A  vision  of 
the  untold  misery  his  death  would  cause  to  those  who  loved 
him,  rose  before  her,  and  she  earnestly  implored  Heaven  to 
restore  him  to  the  arms  of  his  loving  parents.  Her  own 
life,  she  knew,  would  be  greatly  embittered,  if  such  a  melan- 
choly event  as  his  death  should  occur. 

The  little  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  was  striking  eight 
when  the  hall  door  opened  to  admit  Hamilton  BlajTe.  In  a 
few  moments  after,  Nettie  stood  before  the  man  whom  she 
had  tried  in  vain  to  forget.  She  greeted  the  visitor  politely, 
saying,  — 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Blayre  ;  and  if  it  were 


74  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

not   for  the   sad  circumstances  concerning  Mr.   Seymour, 
nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  this  meeting.'' 

•'  Well,  Miss  Hazelton,"  he  replied,  "  under  an}'  circum- 
stances, there  is  not  a  person  on  earth  whom  I  desired  so 
much  to  see  as  yourself." 

After  an  hour  or  more's  conversation,  they  both  went  to 
Walter's  room  and  remained  there  a  long  time.  He  was 
still  unconsious ;  but  Dr.  Moss  had  told  them  in  the  morn- 
ing that  he  would  soon  recover  his  senses.  The  next  time 
Hamilton  called,  Walter  was  able  to  talk  to  him.  When  they 
returned  to  the  parlor,  after  leaving  Walter,  Hamilton  said 
to  her, — 

"  Nettie,  do  you  remember  the  morning  we  met  at  Rooney 
Castle?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

'  "  Then,  my  darling,  is  there  still  an  obstacle  between  us  ? 
Is  not  this  hand  free  to  be  mine  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  then  asked, — 

"  Mr.  Blayre,  have  you  broken  your  engagement  with 
MissBouford?" 

He  smiled  at  the  question,  as  he  answered, — 

"  So  this  rumor  reached  your  ears,  too?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  I  learned  it  through  the  press  ;  and 
Judge  Graham  confirmed  the  statement  after  meeting  with 
you  in  London." 

"  This  rumor  was  false  ;  it  was  local  gossip.  My  mother 
and  sister  tried  every  means  to  persuade  me  to  it ;  once  my 
mother  was  sure  that  we  were  betrothed.  I  was  told,  re- 
peatedl}*,  that  whenever  Miss  Bouford  was  asked,  her  answer 
would  be  yes.  I  never  had  any  engagement  with  the  young 
lad}1,  unless  to  dance  or  to  dine.  I  could  never  marry  a  wife 
who  is  the  toast  of  every  man  from  the  ball-room  to  the 
gambling-table ;  a  wife  who  never  has  a  moment  to  spare 
for  the  society  of  home  or  husband.  You,  my  gentle  Nettie, 
shall  be  the  only  one  who  shall  ever  own  my  heart ;  and  if 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGXS.  75 

you  refuse  to  take  possession  of  it,  then  it  shall  remain  with 
only  your  image  impressed  upon  it,  and  the  echo  of  your 
memory  haunting  it." 

Nettie  accepted  the  gift  he  offered,  and  through  the  re- 
mainder of  her  life  found  it  a  noble,  geneious  one,  worthy 
of  all  the  love  and  devotion  she  might  lavish  upon  it.  The 
bright  anticipations  of  the  happy  future  waiting  her  well 
repaid  her  for  her  years  of  toil  and  suffering. 

Hamilton  communicated  Walter's  mishap  to  his  parents  ; 
but  it  was  three  days  before  the  letter  which  he  dispatched 
reached  Oakland  Manor.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sej'mour  lost  no 
time  in  preparing  for  their  journey,  but  owing  to  unfore- 
seen circumstances,  they  were  obliged  to  remain  over  night 
in  the  city,  and  thus  were  longer  travelling  than  they  had 
expected. 

After  the  third  day,  Walter  gained  rapidly,  but  he  was 
cautioned  by  the  doctor  not  to  depend  too  much  upon  his 
strength.  Nettie  used  to  sit  by  his  bedside  and  read  aloud  ; 
she  endeavored  by  every  means  within  her  power  to 
induce  him  to  abide  by  the  doctor's  directions,  but  the  day 
before  his  parents  arrived  he  insisted  upon  getting  up,  heed- 
less of  all  their  entreaties.  Nettie  was  obliged  to  leave  him 
alone  the  greater  part  of  the  day ;  she  was  busy  helping 
Margaret  and  her  mother,  to  have  everything  as  comfortable 
as  possible  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Se}rmour  should  arrive.  She 
was  in  the  little  parlor,  sweeping  and  dusting.  Most  of  the 
drawing-room  furniture  of  Hazel  Hill  occupied  this  room ; 
the  oil-paintings  which  they  had  brought  with  them  from  the 
old  home  ornamented  the  walls  ;  heavy  damask  curtains 
draped  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor.  All  that  was  in  the 
room  was  of  superior  quality  and  workmanship,  and  showed 
that  the  family  was  not  always  in  the  position  of  life  which 
it  now  occupied.  While  Nettie  was  engaged  in  her  work 
her  mother  entered  the  room ;  for  some  moments  her  eyes 
rested  upon  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman  dressed  in  military 


76  THE  LOST  RECEIPT ,    OR, 

uniform.  It  was  the  portrait  of  her  father,  Major  Goff. 
Directly  opposite  hung  a  large  oil-painting  of  his  twin 
daughters ;  they  seemed  about  seventeen  years  old,  and 
resembled  each  other  greatly.  Mrs.  Hazelton's  mind  wan- 
dered over  the  twenty-eight  years  that  had  passed  since 
those  two  sisters  stood  side  by  side,  the  idols  of  their  father ; 
for  he  had  loved  them  better  than  his  own  life.  She  looked 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears ; 
for  she  saw,  in  the  depths  of  the  mild,  calm  c}Tes,  the 
broken  heart  of  her  father.  She  had  often  gazed  upon  those 
same  pictures,  but  never  before  had  she  experienced  such 
sad  and  bitter  feelings.  Nettie's  question  roused  her  from 
her  reverie. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  what  became  of  Aunt  Jeannette? 
You  never  told  me  whether  she  is  living  or  dead." 

"  I  know  not  what  became  of  her,  my  child.  Before  my 
marriage,  we  were  living  at  Mount  Miller,  and  an  officer  in 
the  English  army  came  to  Colonel  Wright's  to  spend  the 
summer.  My  sister  Jeannette  and  the  Colonel's  daughter 
were  very  intimate ;  a  strong  attachment  was  formed  be- 
tween herself  and  the  visitor,  who  accompanied  her  wherever 
she  went.  They  were  engaged  before  my  father  ever  sus- 
pected the  intimacy.  Her  ardent  lover  came  to  him  to  ask 
his  consent  to  their  marriage  ;  but  my  father,  learning  that 
his  only  income  was  his  salary  from  the  army,  refused  to 
sanction  their  union.  Although  father  knew  he  had  rich 
connections,  he  would  not  listen  to  his  pleadings,  but  ordered 
him  to  leave,  and  kept  Jeannette  in  confinement  until  he  had 
left  the  neighborhood.  He  came  the  following  summer; 
father  knew  what  brought  him,  and  deemed  it  advisable  to 
send  Jeannette  to  his  sister,  who  lived  in  Scotland ;  she  was 
married  to  General  Gage.  But  this  separation  did  not 
weaken  the  attachment  or  cool  their  devotion.  Though 
aunt  kept  a  close  watch  upon  her,  Jeannette  contrived  to 
write  and  acquaint  him  with  her  whereabouts.  In  a  few 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  77 

weeks  he  disappeared,  and  the  next  we  heard  of  them  was 
that  they  were  married.  She  wrote  to  father,  asking  his 
forgiveness,  a  request  he  did  not  grant  till  a  few  months 
before  his  death.  My  father's  last  days  were  greatly  embit- 
tered by  the  remembrance  of  Jcannette's  conduct ;  he  sel- 
dom spoke  of  her ;  but  a  few  days  before  he  died,  he  asked 
us  if  we  thought  we  could  find  her,  and  said  he  longed  to  see 
her  once  more  before  he  closed  his  eyes  forever ;  when 
delirious,  he  talked  incessantly  of  her.  His  last  words 
were  to  me  :  '  Nellie,'  he  said,  '  if  you  ever  see  her,  tell  her 
that  I  loved  her  to  the  end  ;  that  her  father's  heart  followed 
her  in  its  3'earning  and  love,  even  till  it  was  cold  and  dead 
within  him ; '  and  he  died  breathing  a  prayer,  in  which  I 
heard  Jeannettc's  narao  and  mine  murmured  together.  Jean- 
nettc  was  a  sweet,  gentle  girl,  and  a  great  favorite  with  all 
who  knew  her.  She  wrote  to  me  twice.  The  last  time  I 
heard  from  her  was  after  my  marriage ;  they  were  then  in 
Scotland.  She  told  me,  in  the  letter,  that  she  was  very 
happy,  and  that  her  continual  prayer  was,  that  father  would 
forgive  her ;  she  also  stated  that  her  husband  had  been  pro- 
moted to  a  higher  rank.  I  know  no  more  of  Jeanne tte's 
history.  After  my  marriage  we  left  Mount  Miller,  and 
father,  who  would  never  consent  to  live  with  us,  altogether, 
bought  this  place,  that  he  might  not  be  separated  from  me 
entirely." 

"  The  face,"  said  Nettie,  "  seems  very  familiar  to  me, 
and  I  cannot  persuade  myself  but  that  I  have  met  her." 

She  could  not  help  thinking  that  Walter  was  her  cousin  ; 
but  did  not  mention  it  to  her  mother,  lest  he  should  prove 
not  to  be,  and  the  disappointment  would  be  harder  to  bear. 
She  knew  that  the  following  day  would  unravel  all  the  mys- 
tery. Having  finished  her  work,  she  hastened  to  dress  herself, 
tbat  she  might  entertain  Walter,  who  was  growing  impatient 
at  her  long  absence.  He  heard  her  humming  a  tune  as  she 
was  coming  down  stairs,  and  the  next  instant  she  was  seated 


78  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

before  the  piano  playing  a  piece  he  used  to  like  when 
they  were  at  Rosebank.  "Walter,  being  very  fond  of  music, 
listened  attentively,  and  throwing  down  the  book  he  was 
trying  to  read,  determined,  at  any  cost,  to  join  her  in  the 
parlor.  It  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  down  the  flight  of 
stairs  between  the  room  he  occupied  and  the  parlor.  His 
entrance  caused  Nettie  to  start,  as  she  asked, — 

"  Did  you  come  down  stairs  without  any  assistance?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  "it  was  j-our  music  brought  me  down ; 
so  you  can  give  an  account  of  j^ourself  to  Dr.  Moss ;  no 
blame  attaches  to  me." 

Nettie  played  a  full  hour,  and  then  he  was  not  satisfied  ; 
she  was  obliged  to  sing  for  him  till  dinner  was  announced. 
In  the  evening,  when  Hamilton  was  coming  up  the  lawn,  he 
heard  a  soft  strain  of  music,  that  sounded  sweet  in  the 
calm,  still  ah* ;  a  rich,  clear  voice,  which  he  knew  and  loved, 
sung  from  Moore's  Melodies,  "The  Time  we  Lost  in  Woo- 
ing." He  waited  until  the  first  verse  was  sung,  and  then 
rang  for  admittance.  When  he  entered  the  parlor  he  stood 
quietly  beside  her  until  the  song  was  finished,  and  then  went 
to  where  Walter  sat,  greeted  him  affectionately,  and  con- 
gratulated him  upon  his  recovery. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly.  Leonard  and  the  j'oung 
men  had  become  warm  friends,  and  they  joked  and  chatted 
the  evening  away  so  quickly,  that  the  time  for  Hamilton  to 
leave  came  sooner  than  he  wished. 


*AUi>TRATED  DESIGNS.  79 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WEDDING   BELLS. 

ABOUT  noon  the  next  dajr,  the  luxurious  carriage  of  the 
Lawrences  stopped  before  the  cottage,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Seymour  alighted.  Nettie  met  them  at  the  door.  Mrs. 
Seymour  held  her  breath  in  amazement  when  she  saw  her. 

"  Are  you  Miss  Nettie  Hazelton?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  Nettie  replied,  "  and  the  person  for  whom  your 
son  risked  his  life." 

A  friendly  greeting  followed,  and  Nettie  led  the  way  to 
the  parlor,  where  they  found  Walter  much  better  than  they 
expected.  Walter  embraced  his  mother  as  if  he  had  not 
seen  her  for  years.  They  were  overjoyed  to  find  him  so 
well,  for  Hamilton's  letter  gave  them  little  encouragement. 
Mrs.  Hazelton  did  not  know  of  their  arrival ;  so  Nettie 
sent  her  sister  Bertha  to  tell  her.  Mrs.  Seymour  was 
sitting  directly  opposite  the  picture  of  Major  Goff;  when 
she  saw  it  she  crossed  the  room  to  come  nearer  to  it,  and 
gazed  at  it,  her  lips  tightly  compressed  and  her  hands 
clasped ;  the  eyes  seemed  looking  at  her  with  a  gentle, 
reproachful  expression.  As  she  was  turning  to  Nettie,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  picture  of  his  two  daughters. 

"Miss  Hazelton,"  said  she,  "may  I  ask  you  who  that 
gentleman  is,  and  where  you  got  the  picture  of  those  two 
girls?" 

Nettie  detected  the  agitation  with  which  she  asked  the 
question. 


80  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

"  That,  Mrs.  Seymour,  is  the  picture  of  my  grandfather, 
Major  Goff,  and  this  is  my  mother  and  her  sister  Jeannette.' 

Mrs.  Seymour  went  back  to  the  sofa  from  which  she  had 
risen,  and,  with  her  eyes  riveted  upon  the  picture  of  Major 
Goff,  let  memory  awaken  the  sweet,  holy  peace  of  her  child- 
hood, and  bring  back  the  dear,  loving  ones  who  had  bright- 
ened the  pathway  of  her  youth.  She  was  sitting  before  the 
picture  of  her  father,  to  whom  she  had  brought  so  much 
grief ;  her  heart  was  weighed  down  with  sorrow  and  remorse 
as  she  thought  of  the  wrong  she  had  done  him,  the  love  she 
had  slighted,  and  the  affection  that  had  been  wasted  upon 
her.  She  struggled  hard  to  control  the  emotions  that  surged 
like  waves  through  her  soul ;  now  she  beheld  her  conduct  in 
the  past,  and  the  bitter  knowledge  that  there  was  no  oppor- 
tunity of  repairing  it  crushed  her  with  its  weight. 

Mrs.  Hazelton  at  last  made  her  appearance  ;  she  went  to 
where  the  company  were  seated,  and  there  came  face  to  face 
with  her  sister.  Mrs.  Seymour  recognized  her  at  once,  and 
they  were  soon  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  "Jeannette, 
my  long-lost  sister,"  cried  Mrs.  Hazelton ;  and  they  both 
wept  -tears  of  joy  over  the  unexpected  meeting.  The  others 
looked  on  bewildered,  and  Walter  became  almost  wild  with 
delight  when  he  discovered  the  real  state  of  affairs.  He  asked 
no  questions,  but  introduced  himself  as  Nettie's  cousin,  kissed 
her  a  half  dozen  times  or  more,  with  the  explanation  that 
one  had  a  perfect  right  to  kiss  his  cousin,  especially  when 
he  had  just  discovered  that  he  had  such  a  relative. 

" By  Jove,  Nettie,"  said  he,  "I  am  glad  you  are  a  rela- 
tion of  mine,  for  now  I  can  love  you  as  a  cousin." 

Mrs.  Seymour  did  not  partake  of  the  grand  dinner  that 
was  preparing  for  her  at  the  Lawrences,  who  expected  her 
to  dine  with  them  ;  they  thought  that  Walter  would  be  well 
enough  to  ride  over  with  them,  but  the  only  occupant  the 
carriage  brought  back  was  Mr.  Se^Tnour,  who  went  through 
courtesy.  Walter's  and  his  mother's  absence  was  regretted 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  81 

by  the  family  ;  but  when  the  cause  was  made  known,  all  con- 
sidered it  a  remarkable,  as  well  as  a  fortunate  occurrence. 

Hamilton  accepted  Mrs.  Hazelton's  invitation  to  dine 
with  them.  Mrs.  Seymour  had  never  in  her  life  been  hap- 
pier, than  when  seated  beside  her  sister,  listening  to  all 
that  had  happened  during  their  separation.  They  were  not 
all  joys  she  had  to  relate,  and  Mrs.  Seymour's  eyes  were 
often  moist  with  tears  as  she  learned  what  her  sister  had  felt 
and  suffered.  She  asked  if  her  father  had  ever  mentioned  her, 
and  Mrs.  Hazelton  repeated  his  d}*ing  words,  which  greatly 
consoled  her,  for  she  feared  that  he  had  died  without  leav- 
ing her  his  forgiveness. 

While  they  were  thus  employed,  Hamilton  was  imparting 
to  Walter  the  news  of  his  engagement  with  Nettie.  They 
mutually  agreed  that  Walter's  encounter  was  a  most  fortu- 
nate one,  bringing,  as  it  did,  joy  and  blessing  to  himself 
and  all  whom  he  loved. 

At  the  time  Hazel  Hill  was  taken  by  the  Lawrences, 
it  had  been  vacant  for  more  than  a  3rear.  Mrs.  Law- 
rence's health  was  failing  fast,  and  her  ph}'sician  advised 
her  to  leave  the  city  and  live  in  the  country,  where  she 
would  have  the  benefit  of  the  pure  air.  Hazel  Hill  was  a 
most  desirable  residence,  and  the  family  had  now  been  there 
about  two  years.  Mrs.  Lawrence  was  a  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Blayre.  Mr.  Lawrence  invited  Hamilton  and  Walter  to 
spend  a  month  at  Hazel  Hill ;  he  knew  it  would  be  pleasant 
for  them,  as  that  part  of  the  country  was  noted  for  game 
and  fish.  They  gladly  accepted  the  invitation  so  warml}r 
extended  to  them,  little  dreaming  of  their  visit  resulting  as 
it  did.  They  had  been  at  the  Hill  but  a  few  days  when  Mr. 
Lawrence  was  called  to  the  city  on  business.  He  was 
accompanied  by  Hamilton,  Walter  declining  to  go.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  he  took  his  fishing-rod,  crossed  the  Hill,  till 
he  came  to  the  trout-pond,  which  was  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  cottage  of  Oakdale.  To  fish  here  was  trespassing, 


84  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

be  obeyed.  She  superintended  the  arrangement  of  the 
apartments  he  mentioned,  and  then  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
"Walter,  asking  full  particulars  of  Hamilton's  marriage,  with 
a  description  of  his  bride.  Walter's  answer  read  thus  :  — 

"  OAKDALK  COTTAGE,  Nov.  15, 18—. 

"Mr  DEAK  JUUA  (and  the  ring  sparkling  upon  her  first  finger 
shows  that  he  has  the  right  to  address  her  thus),  —  I  see  by  yonr 
letter,  that  curiosity  has  reduced  you  to  a  state  of  complete  despera- 
tion. You  have  written  to  me — for  which  favor  I  am  very  grateful — 
requesting  full  particulars  of  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Hamilton  Blayre, 
of  Hamilton  Lodge,  with  the  beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter 
of  the  late  John  Hazelton. 

"  I  hope  you  will  appreciate  the  energy  and  zeal  which  I  throw 
into  the  arduous  work  before  me ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  my  dear,  that 
I  consider  it  no  joke  to  describe  a  marriage  ceremony  in  which 
Hamilton  Blayro  was  one  of  the  principal  characters.  However,  it 
is  my  earnest  and  undivided  wish  that  your  desires  should  be  grati- 
fied ;  so  here  are  the  details : 

"  The  marriage,  like  all  country  marriages,  was  performed  quietly  j 
it  took  place  in  the  little  church  at  Oakdale.  The  following  were 
the  invited  guests :  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham,  with  their  daughter 
Lena ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seymour,  with  their  son  Walter ;  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lawrence.  These,  with  the  bride's  mother,  sister,  and  brother 
witnessed  the  ceremony. 

"  The  bride  looked  neat ;  she  was  dressed  in  her  travelling  suit. 
The  bridegroom  stood  linn  and  erect,  never  flinching  during  the 
trying  ordeal.  After  the  benediction  had  been  pronounced,  they 
received  the  congratulations  of  their  friends,  and  Hamilton  led  his 
bride  to  the  carriage,  got  in,  and  drove  off. 

"  It  is  like  a  dream  to  me,  that  I  heard  some  one  say  they  were 
going  on  a '"wedding  tour.'  Now  for  a  description  of  the  bride; 
follow  me  closely : 

"  Mrs.  Hamilton  Blayre,  Jr.,  is  a  person  below  the  medium  height ; 
she  would  be  graceful,  if  she  were  not  quite  so  stout ;  she  has  a 
short,  round  face,  small  gray  eyes,  and  an  abundance  of  luxuriant, 
dark-red  hair.  She  is  a  shade  darker  than  a  brunette,  because  of 
an  innumerable  quantity  of  freckles,  which  add  greatly  to  her 
charms.  She  is  exceedingly  high-spirited,  and  apt  to  take  offence 
where  none  is  meant.  She  is  a  capital  housekeeper,  and  an  excel- 
lent nurse,  as  I  have  reason  to  know. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  %        85 

"  I  expect  to  be  at  Hamilton  Lodge  before  the  party  .arrives.  Till 
then,  my  dear  Julia,  I  will  leave  you  peacefully  contemplating  thia 
graphic  description  of  your  sister-in-law. 

"  I  remain,  yours  forever, 

"  WALTER  SEYMOUR." 


When  Miss  Blayre  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  she  said 
to  herself,  — 

"  If  that  description  be  correct,  then  Hamilton's  bride 
will  be  quite  an  ornament  to  the  Lodge  ;  of  course,  it  is  not 
all  true.  I  might  have  known  that  Walter  would  joke  over 
it,  as  he  does  over  everything." 

Hearing  her  mother's  footsteps  in  the  hall,  she  thrust  the 
letter  into  her  pocket,  that  she  might  not  see  Walter's 
description  of  her  son's  wife. 

Hamilton  and  his  bride  made  a  short  tour,  and  then  began 
their  journey  to  their  future  home.  The  carriage  from  the 
Lodge  met  them  at  the  station.  It  was  almost  dark  when 
they  drove  up  the  grand  avenue.  As  soon  as  the  carriage 
was  in  sight,  the  servants  ran  to  the  windows,  eager  to  get 
a  peep  at  their  new  mistress ;  but  the  gathering  twilight 
prevented  them  from  distinguishing  more  than  her  form. 
Hamilton  handed  her  out  of  the  carriage  and  assisted  her 
up  the  marble  steps.  A  servant  was  holding  the  hall  door 
open  for  their  admission.  Hamilton  asked  him  where  his 
mistress  was.  He  replied,  "  In  the  drawing-room."  Hamil- 
ton said  no  more,  but  led  his  wife  to  the  apartments  just 
fitted  up  for  them.  They  were  richly  and  tastefully  fur- 
nished ;  a  cheerful  fire  burned  in  the  grate  ;  a  large  bouquet 
of  choice  flowers  was  placed  on  the  centre-table. 

Mrs.  Hamilton  Blayre  changed  her  travelling  apparel,  and 
after  resting  for  half  an  hour,  arranged  her  toilet  for  the 
evening.  She  was  waiting  for  her  husband,  who  was  not  yet 
ready.  The  troubled  expression  which  his  countenance  had 
worn  during  the  last  half  hour,  was  changing  into  one  of 


86  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

anger.  Nettie  knew  that  he  felt  hurt  and  disappointed  by 
his  mother's  conduct ;  not  so  much  for  himself,  as  for  her, 
and  going  to  him,  she  said,  — 

"  Hamilton,  do  not  be  displeased  with  your  mother ;  per- 
haps she  does  not  know  of  our  arrival,  or  she  may  be  busy 
preparing  for  us.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  show  any 
signs  of  displeasure  towards  her." 

"  Yes,  Nettie,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  both  hurt  and  grieved 
by  my  mother's  and  sister's  conduct ;  but  it  may  be  as  you 
say,  that  they  are  preparing  for  us.  Come,  darling,  we 
will  go  to  the  drawing-room  ourselves." 

"  Yes,  and  greet  her  with  a  son's  and  daughter's  affection. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  her  love." 

Leaning  upon  her  husband's  arm,  she  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room, richly  attired  in  lavender  silk  artistically  trimmed 
with  point-lace.  The  ornaments  she  wore  were  a  set  of 
pearls,  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Seymour.  They  found  only  his 
sister  Julia  there  ;  she  was  busily  employed  in  arranging  a 
number  of  bouquets.  The  drawing-room  was  elaborately 
decorated  with  natural  flowers.  Between  the  folding-doors 
was  a  beautiful  bridal  arch,  with  the  inscription,  "Happi- 
ness, joy,  and  love  be  thine  evermore."  From  the  centre 
of  it  hung  a  large  basket,  filled  with  the  rarest  and  costliest 
of  flowers,  upon  the  top  of  which  stood  an  angel,  holding  in 
his  hands  two  vials,  labelled  "Peace"  and  "Concord." 
Over  the  angel's  head  was  formed,  by  gas-jets,  the  words, 
"  Love,  the  angel  of  our  home."  The  ceiling  was  exqui- 
sitely ornamented  in  the  form  of  stars,  and  all  around  the 
room  were  scattered  bouquets,  baskets,  and  vases  of  the  most 
delicate  flowers.  Upon  the  table  stood  two  elegant  hearts, 
made  of  forget-me-nots  ;  in  the  centre  of  one  was  traced,  in 
lilies  of  the  valley,  "  Brother,"  and  upon  the  other,  "  Sister." 
All  was  arranged  according  to  Julia's  taste,  who,  notwith- 
standing her  mother's  protest,  had  determined  that  for  her 
brother's  sake  his  wife  should  not  be  received  as  a  stranger. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  87 

When  they  entered,  she  was  just  finishing  it,  preparatory  to 
going  to  meet  them.  Her  work  was  interrupted  by  Nettie's 
exclamation,  "  How  beautiful ! "  Upon  seeing  them,  Julia 
rose,  greeted  her  affectionately,  and  turned  to  congratulate 
her  brother.  Hamilton  inquiring  for  his  mother,  Julia  asked 
in  some  surprise,  if  he  had  not  seen  her ;  and  being  answered 
in  the  negative,  she  told  him  that  her  mother  had  left  the 
drawing-room,  she  thought,  with  the  intention  of  going  to 
welcome  them.  Saying  this,  she  left  the  room  to  search  for 
her.  She  found  her  mother  in  her  own  room,  leisurely  sur- 
veying herself  in  the  mirror.  She  gave  her  a  glowing 
description  of  Hamilton's  bride,  telling  her  of  her  beauty 
and  elegance,  and  ending  by  an  appeal  to  hurry  down,  lest 
she  might  be  offended  by  the  delay. 

Mrs.  Bla}'re  made  no  effort  to  hurry ;  she  resolved  to 
receive  her  son's  wife  as  coldly  as  she  could.  It  had  been 
her  fondest  wish  to  see  him  the  husband  of  Adele  Bouford, 
and  it  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her  pride  to  feel  herself  bound 
to  receive  the  bride  for  whom  he  had  sacrificed  wealth  and 
station ;  for  whom  he  had  spurned  her  plans  and  schemes 
for  his  welfare.  She  slowly  descended  the  stairs,  and  with 
a  proud,  disdainful  look,  entered  the  drawing-room.  Ham- 
ilton presented  his  bride,  upon  whom  for  a  few  moments  she 
haughtily  gazed,  and  then  coldly  said, — 

"  The  new  mistress  of  Hamilton  Lodge." 

Poor  Nettie  felt  that  she  was  looked  upon  as  an  intruder, 
but  summoning  courage,  she  replied,  — 

"  And  I  hope  to  prove  a  worthy  one." 

After  supper  the  guests  flocked  in,  and  the  Lodge  re- 
sounded with  their  mirth.  Julia  Bla}7re  was  delighted  with 
her  sister-in-law,  and  gave  Walter  a  sound  rating  for  what 
she  called  his  "  ruling  passion,"  joking,  even  at  the  expense 
of  truth.  As  Mrs.  Blayre  grew  to  understand  Nettie,  she 
also  grew  to  love  her,  as  no  one  who  knew  her  could  help 
doing.  Her  beauty,  rare  accomplishments,  gentle,  engaging 


A*  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

manners,  and,  above  all,  the  sweet,  helpful  spirit  with  which 
she  endeavored  to  make  others  happy,  won  the  proud,  cold 
heart  of  the  woman  whom  scarcely  any  one  could  please. 
There  never  reigned  at  Hamilton  Lodge  a  mistress  worthier 
of  the  title  than  Mrs.  Hamilton  Blayre. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS. 


CHAPTER 

RETRIBUTION. 

TOM  BEATLY  and  George  Fuller  disagreed  in  their  busi- 
ness transactions.  The  scheme  for  Nettie's  capture  had 
failed ;  he  had  lost  her,  and  he  felt  the  world  lost  to  him. 
Tom  would  extract  no  more  "  hush-money."  Fuller  dis- 
charged him,  with  only  his  month's  pay,  thinking  that  Tom 
would  not  endanger  his  own  safety  by  exposing  him.  He 
comforted  himself  with  the  assurance  that  if  Tom  did  divulge 
the  secret,  his  money  and  influence  would  procure  him  favor. 

When  Lawyer  Warren  learned  that  Tom  had  been  dis- 
charged, he  took  him  into  his  service,  hoping  to  gain  some 
knowledge  of  Fuller's  cunning.  He  knew  Tom's  favorite 
drink  was  a  good  glass  of  old  Irish  whiskey,  and  whenever 
he  came  into  his  office,  the  lawyer  invited  him  to  a  seat, 
placed  the  bottle  and  glass  before  him,  and  was  soon  in 
possession  of  all  that  Tom  knew. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Hazelton  placed  the  receipt  in  the  hands 
of  her  solicitor,  he  lost  no  time  in  bringing  Fuller  to  justice. 
A  writ  of  attachment  was  served  upon  him,  and  a  warrant 
issued  for  his  arrest.  He  was  accompanied  to  prison  by 
Henry  Brown,  who  had  made  the  attack  upon  Walter ;  Tom 
Beatly  was  held  as  a  witness.  Fuller  had  his  lawyer,  whom 
he  paid  well  to  defend  him.  His  trial  was  postponed  until 
Leonard  should  reach  his  majority.  Henry  Brown,  who  had 
no  one  to  speak  a  word  in  his  favor,  received  a  sentence  of 
ten  3'ears'  hard  labor.  Mrs.  Hazelton's  ill-health  prevented 
her  from  taking  any  interest  in  the  case ;  so  the  future 
looked  dark  and  gloomy  to  Fuller,  who  expected  no  mercy 


90  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

at  the  hands  of  the  severe  old  lawyer,  or  the  hasty,  impul- 
sive Leonard. 

Fuller  had  gone  to  the  library  of  Hazel  Hill,  as  has  been 
related,  with  the  intention  of  securing  the  papers  which  had 
caused  so  much  trouble  to  the  Hazeltons.  He  was  sure  that 
the  sealed  package,  which  so  marvellously  fell  into  the  hands 
of  Tom  Beatly,  contained  the  object  of  his  search  ;  subse- 
quently he  discovered  that  it  was  only  a  copy  of  the  old 
will,  which  was  of  no  use  to  him. 

During  the  two  or  three  times  he  had  called  at  the  Hill, 
while  Mrs.  Hazelton  was  sick,  he  learned  from  Nettie  that 
the  receipt  was  missing,  and  concluded  that  Mr.  Hazelton 
had  lost  it,  while  his  attention  was  occupied  in  the  races,  or 
that  he  had  destroyed  it  in  one  of  his  fits  of  insanity.  With 
this  conviction  firmly  established  in  his  mind,  he  was  em- 
boldened to  make  the  advances  he  had  made  to  Miss  Hazel- 
ton.  The  wretched  prisoner  had  spent  more  than  a  year  in 
close  confinement.  He  had  offered  any  terms  to  Lawyer 
"Warren  ;  but  the  solicitor  could  do  nothing  without  consult- 
ing Leonard,  who  rejected  all  his  proposals,  and  declared  he 
would  offer  nothing  to  him  but  the  severest  punishment  the 
law  could  inflict.  This  was  the  news  his  counsellor  brought 
him  when  he  made  his  morning  call. 

"Is  there  no  way,"  he  asked,  "I  can  get  out  of  this 
prison,  or  escape  meeting  with  j'oung  Hazelton's  wrath  ? 
The  law  would  show  him  no  mercy  either,  if  he  once  got 
into  its  clutches." 

He  walked  his  narrow  cell  in  utter  dejection  ;  the  frenzy 
of  despair  was  in  his  eyes,  and  it  gave  them  a  wild  and 
fierce  expression.  He  thought  of  Nettie,  so  gentle,  good, 
and  forgiving ;  she  had  a  powerful  influence  over  her  brother, 
that,  if  exercised  in  his  behalf,  would  effect  a  great  deal. 
But  how  could  he  dare  ask  her,  whom  he  had  wronged  most, 
to  intercede  for  him.  He  determined  to  try  her,  feeling  con- 
fident that  she  would  show  him  mercy.  He  wrote  to  her, 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  91 

confessing  his  guilt,  imploring  her  forgiveness,  and  begging 
her  intercession  with  her  brother ;  telling  her  that  he  trusted 
in  her  woman's  heart  to  deal  kindly  with  him  in  his  misery. 
It  was  a  heart-rending  letter,  and  showed  the  cowardliness 
and  meanness  of  him  who  penned  it. 

When  Nettie  read  the  letter,  she  went  immediately  to 
consult  her  husband. 

"My  darling,"  said  he,  "  if  it  were  not  for  Fuller's 
treachery,  I  should  have  never  met  my  precious  Nettie  ;  the 
sad  circumstances  which  compelled  you  to  go  to  the  Sargeants 
brought  me  blessings  and  untold  joys.  Certainty  we  will 
forgive  him,  and  do  our  best  to  have  him  liberated." 

"  You  are  so  noble  and  generous,  Hamilton,  may  I  always 
be  worthy  of  your  love.  We  will  go  at  once  to  see  what 
our  influence  will  do  with  Leonard.  Mamma  will  be  very 
glad  if  we  can  turn  him  from  his  revengeful  feelings." 

The  next  week  she  was  travelling  towards  her  old  home, 
for  Mrs.  Hazelton  had  removed  to  it  some  months  before. 
She  found  her  mother  sinking  fast.  Leonard  intended 
writing  her  the  very  morning  she  came,  to  tell  her  of  her 
mother's  danger.  Mrs.  Hazelton  knew  it  was  her  last  ill- 
ness, and  she  was  quietly  waiting  the  end. 

Nettie  gently  broached  the  object  of  their  visit  to  Leonard, 
urging  him  to  accept  the  prisoner's  terms,  and  grant  him, 
pardon.  The  hot  blood  rushed  to  Leonard's  brow,  and  the 
blue  63*68  blazed  with  anger. 

"  For  five  years,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  harboring  feel- 
ings of  revenge,  and  now  must  I  forgive  such  a  villain?" 

"  My  son,"  said  his  mother,  "  who  has  done  you  so  much 
injustice  that  you  cannot  pardon  him?  Forgive,  that  you 
may  be  forgiven." 

After  some  further  remonstrance,  Leonard  said,  — 

"Well,  it  is  to  you,  my  mother  and  sister,  that  I  grant 
this  favor,  though  much  against  my  will,  for  it  would  do  the 
wretch  no  harm  to  have  him  well  punished." 


92  THE  LOST  RECEIPT;   OR, 

Nettie  put  her  arms  around  her  brother's  neck  and  kissed 
him,  saying,  — 

"  Thank  j'ou,  Leonard;  j*ou  could  confer  no  favor  upon 
me  that  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  this." 

A  few  days  after,  Nettie  paid  Fuller  a  visit.  She  found 
him  very  much  changed.  He  looked  twenty  years  older 
than  when  she  saw  him  last ;  his  hair  and  beard  were  almost 
white,  and  deep  wrinkles  lined  his  forehead.  He  was  the 
most  subdued  man  she  had  ever  seen.  It  seemed  almost 
impossible  that  one  could  change  so  much  in  such  a  short 
period.  He  thought  her  presence  made  his  cell  brighter. 
He  could  find  no  words  to  express  his  thanks  and  gratitude 
for  her  visit ;  his  heart  was  full,  and  the  words  he  tried  to 
utter  died  on  his  lips.  Witnessing  his  agony  and  remorse, 
she  spoke  to  him  kindly  and  hopefully,  telling  him  that  he 
was  forgiven,  that  no  thought  of  hers  would  ever  wrong 
him. 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  93 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

COXCLUSION. 

NETTIE  remained  at  Hazel  Hill,  for  her  mother  needed 
her  kind,  gentle  ministrations.  One  evening,  as  Nettie  was 
seated  beside  the  bed,  her  mother  repeated  the  lines,  — 


"  It  has  come  to  me,  o'er  and  o'er  — 
I  am  nearer  home,  to-day, 
Than  I've  ever  been  before. 

Nearer  my  Father's  home, 
Where  the  many  mansions  be ; 

Nearer  the  great,  white  Throne ; 
Nearer  the  jasper  sea. 

Nearer  the  bounds  of  life, 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down ; 
Nearer  leaving  the  cross ; 

Nearer  gaining  the  crown. 

But  lying  darkly  between, 

Winding  down  through  the  night, 
Is  the  dim  and  unknown  stream 

That  leads  me,  at  last,  to  light. 

Closer,  closer,  my  steps 
Come  to  the  dark  abysm ; 

Closer,  Death,  to  my  lips 
Presses  the  awful  chrism. 


94  THE  LOST  RBCEIPT;   OR, 

Father,  perfect  my  trust, 
Strengthen  the  night  of  my  faith ; 

Let  me  feel,  as  I  would,  -when  I  stand 
On  the  rock  of  the  shore  of  death. 

Feel  as  I  "would  when  my  feet 
Are  slipping  on  the  brink ; 

For  it  may  be,  I  am  near  home  — 
Nearer  now  than  I  think." 


And  early  the  next  morning  she  passed 

"  O'er  the  dim  and  unknown  stream 
That  led  her,  at  last,  to  light." 

Nettie  saw  her  carried  over  the  hill,  far  away  from  the 
dear  old  home,  and  laid  in  the  little  graveyard,  and  then, 
with  her  sister  Bertha,  she  returned  to  Hamilton  Lodge. 

Fuller  was  obliged  to  pay  all  the  expenses  connected  with 
the  Hazelton  estate ;  worse  than  that,  he  was  compelled  to 
quit  the  country,  leaving  his  wealth  in  the  hands  of  a  lawyer, 
until  such  time  as  he  could  arrange  his  business.  Without 
the  least  reluctance,  Fuller  agreed  to  the  terms.  He  was 
accompanied  by  Tom  Beatly,  for  whom  Lawj'er  Warren 
had  no  further  use. 

A  year  after  Mrs.  Hazelton's  death,  Leonard  married  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  Lena  Graham.  Walter  Seymour 
and  Julia  Bla}Te  were  spending  their  honeymoon  in  Paris 
when  Mr.  Hazelton  and  hit*  bride  joined  them. 

Millie  Sargent,  whom  we  have  almost  forgotten,  married 
abroad.  Upon  their  return  to  England,  she  and  Nettie 
renewed  their  former  friendship,  and  spent  many  pleasant 
hours  together. 

The  happiness  of  Nettie's  married  life  was  for  a  while 
clouded  by  the  loss  of  the  wee  little  stranger  whom  God  had 
sent  her  for  a  few  months  and  then  called  home  again.  As 


FRUSTRATED  DESIGNS.  95 

she  gazed  on  the  sweet  little  angel-face,  upon  which  Death 
had  placed  his  seal,  she  thought  of  Adelaide  Procter's  verse, 


"  One  by  one,  bright  gifts  from  Heaven, 

Joys  are- sent  us  here  below, 

Take  them  readily  \vhen  given, 

Ready  too,  to  let  them  go." 


Some  years  after,  Hamilton  Lodge  echoed  with  the  joy 
and  merriment  of  childhood,  and  Hamilton  and  Nettie  were 
blessed  in  the  gladness  of  their  children. 


"ALL  THAT  GLITTERS 


IS  NOT  GOLD." 


By    MARY    J.     SALTER. 


BOSTON: 

WRIGHT  &  POTTER  PRINTING   COMPANY, 

No.  18  POST  OFFICE  SQUARE. 

1881. 


Copyright, 

MARY  J.  SALTfcR. 
1880. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  work  of  perseverance  consists  of  twelve  complete  stories, 
by  MAHY  J.  SALTER,  the  author  of  "  The  Lost  Receipt." 

At  the  age  of  twenty-two,  the  writer  lost  her  sight ;  and  she 
afterwards  spent  a  term  at  the  Perkins  Institution  for  the  Blind- 
Here  we  learn  that  we  possess  nothing  on  earth  but  what  Heaven 
pleases  to  send  us;  and  we  are  always  ready  to  accept  God's 
good  gifts,  and  must  be  ready,  too,  to  let  them  go.  When  the 
cup  of  happiness  is  full  and  ready  to  touch  the  lips,  it  may  be 
upset  through  loss  of  fortune,  death,  or  affliction,  and  all  the 
sweetness  of  life  be  .turned  to  bitter  sorrow,  so  blighting  the 
bright  anticipation  of  our  future.  The  writer  earnestly  desires 
the  patronage  of  the  public,  as  this  is  her  only  means  of  supply- 
ing her  necessities  She  is  now  engaged  in  the  preparation  of  a 
larger  and  more  expensive  work,  which,  when  completed,  will 
make  a  book  of  some  three  hundred  pages,  entitled  "  The  Day 
before  the  Battle ;  or,  True  to  the  Charge." 

MARY  J.  SALTER. 


THE  METHOD   BY   WHICH  THE  BLIND  WRITE. 


THE  slate  is  composed  of  wood,  lined  with  a  soft  material 
on  which  the  note-paper  is  placed.  It  consists  of  a  slide 
containing  a  group  of  holes.  Through  these  the  dots  to  form 
the  letters  are  made,  by  the  use  of  a  sharp  stiletto.  This 
instrument  leaves  an  impression  on  the  paper  which  enables 
the  blind  to  read  what  they  write,  and  thus  complete  their 
work  of  science. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


THE  UNKNOWN  LEGACY, 1 

THE  DOUBLE  TRAGEDY, 15 

SAVED  FROM  THE  TOMB, 22 

THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE,  .       .'  .       .       .26 

CLARA  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT,   .       .       .       .       .88 

DR  PHILLY'S  VISITOR, •-';',       .       .46 

CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION, 54 

LORD  CLIFTON, 67 

BRUNO'S  FIDELITY, ...      89 

LOTTIE  ELLIS'S  PERIL, 93 

THE  BEGGAR  AND  THE  BANKER, 100 


THE  UNKNOWN  LEGACY. 


IN  a  two-story  lodging-house  in  Chatman  Street,  in  a 
scantily-furnished  apartment,  sat  Lotta  Hooper,  busily  en- 
gaged at  sewing,  this  being  almost  her  only  means  for  gaining 
a  livelihood.  The  note  which  lay  on  the  table  reminded  her 
that  she  must  go  and  see  Miss  Barker.  She  changed  her  work- 
ing-dress for  a  plain  black  cashmere :  she  was  in  mourning 
for  her  mother,  who  had  died  recently.  Miss  Barker's  house 
was  fully  half  an  hour's  walk ;  and  Lotta  thought  the  exer- 
cise would  be  a  great  benefit  to  her,  and  so  it  proved  to  be  ; 
for  tho  cool,  refreshing  breeze  of  the  morning,  and  her  quick 
walk,  brought  the  color  to  her  cheeks.  She  stopped  before 
tho  grand  mansion  of  Mr.  John  Barker ;  her  summons  was 
soon  answered  by  the  servant,  who  announced  her  presence  ; 
while  passing  through  the  hall,  she  met  Mr.  Barker,  who 
greeted  her  warmly,  saj'ing,  in  his  brusque  manner,  "Hard 
work  seems  to  agree  with  you,  Lotta." 

Upon  reaching  tha  lady's  apartment,  Lotta  found  Miss 
Barker  preparing  for  her  morning's  drive.  After  the  usual 
greeting,  Lotta  said,  "  I  received  your  note,  Miss  Barker  ;  and 
from  its  contents  I  judge  that  you  wish  to  make  some  different 
arrangements  concerning  your  sewing." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Miss  Barker,  "Miss  Allen  has  offered  to 
do  it  much  cheaper ;  but,  as  I  have  already  spoken  to  you 
upon  the  matter,  I  will  give  you  the  preference,  with  the 
understanding  that  3-011  will  work  as  reasonably  as  others." 

"  I  cannot  comply  with  your  wishes,  Miss  Barker.     What 


2  THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY. 

I  receive  for  my  labor  is  already  small  enough  to  supply  my 
wants ;  if  Miss  Allen  can  do  it  for  less  money,  you  are  of 
course  at  liberty  to  engage  her ;  but  I  really  cannot  reduce 
my  price." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  lady,  "  Miss  Hooper,  I  have  obtained 
for  you  a  number  of  customers ;  and,  if  I  change,  they  will 
all  follow  my  example." 

"  True,"  said  Lotta ;  "  but,  if  my  work  did  not  suit  them, 
they  would  have  dispensed  with  my  services  before  now  ;  and, 
since  they  seem  satisfied  with  me,  perhaps  your  conduct  will 
have  no  effect  upon  them.  However,  they  might  as  well 
leave  me  as  expect  me  to  work  for  less :  I  could  not  do  it 
and  live." 

"  Very  well,"  Miss  Barker  replied,  "  we  will  consider  your 
engagement  cancelled." 

Lotta  bowed  and  departed. 

Lotta  Hooper  was  an  orphan  ;  she  could  scarcely  remember 
the  caress  of  a  father,  being  left  at  the  age  of  five  years  to 
the  care  of  a  gentle  mother,  who  loved  her  devotedly.  At 
the  age  of  sixteen  Lotta  was  placed  at  a  boarding-school, 
where  she  completed  her  education.  The  parting  from  her 
mother  on  this  occasion  was  the  first  sorrow  Lotta  had  ex- 
perienced. Lotta  much  preferred  to  remain  at  home,  that 
she  might  assist  her  mother  in  some  manner ;  but,  being  a 
child,  she  offered  no  resistance  to  her  mother's  wishes.  At 
school  Lotta  won  the  esteem  of  her  teachers  and  the  love  of 
her  companions.  She  progressed  wonderfully  in  her  studies, 
embracing  every  opportunity  to  improve  herself.  At  the  end 
of  the  term,  each  year,  she  received  numerous  invitations  to 
visit  the  homes  of  her  schoolmates  ;  but  they  were  never  ac- 
cepted :  she  returned  home  each  vacation  to  work  unselfishly 
for  her  mother.  Many  a  sacrifice,  perhaps  as  hard  as  Mrs. 
Hooper  was  making  daily  for  Lotta,  did  Lotta  make  in  return 
for  her :  she  was  young  and  lively,  and  would  have  enjoyed 
those  visits  very  much. 


THE   UNKNOWN    LEGACY.  8 

At  last  Lotta  graduated  with  the  highest  honors.  She  re- 
ceived from  Judge  Meredith  the  necklace  of  pearls  presented 
to  the  pupil  most  deserving  of  it.  Lotta  was  very  happy  as 
she  returned  home,  and  displayed  her  prize  before  her  mother's 
proud  and  joyful  eyes. 

After  her  graduation,  Lotta  began  to  work  with  her  mother. 
Earnest  by  nature,  and  grateful  at  heart,  she  resolved  to  repay 
her  mother  for  all  the  love  and  kindness  she  had  bestowed 
upon  her  during  so  many,  many  j-ears.  Lotta  felt  the  work 
she  was  to  do  distasteful  to  her ;  but  her  mother's  uncom- 
plaining patience  and  unweaving  self-sacrifice  silenced  every 
dissatisfied  sentiment  in  her  heart.  The  mother  and  daughter 
toiled  together  for  two  years.  Lotta  was  a  true,  noble,  un- 
selfish girl,  and  often  did  Mrs.  Hooper  sigh  over  the  fate 
that  made  her  only  child  a  slave ;  she  saw  the  young  spirit 
of  girlhood  crushed  within  a  heart  capable  of  the  brightest 
and  noblest  aspirations ;  she  saw  the  glad  beauty  of  a  life 
fading  out  before  the  unquenchable  fire  of  poverty  and  the 
hopeless  weariness  of  incessant  toil ;  yet,  —  this  was  the  dark- 
est and  most  unbearable  trial,  —  she  saw  herself  unable  to 
relieve  her  child  of  the  burden  of  toil  for  a  single  instant. 
There  seemed  nothing  before  her  but  a  lifetime  of  labor. 

Two  j'ears  had  passed  since  Lotta  had  left  school ;  her 
mother  had  been  growing  more  delicate  ;  and,  being  unable 
to  work,  Lotta  was  obliged  to  increase  their  means  by  extra 
labor.  Reading  over  the  advertisements  in  the  paper  one 
evening,  she  came  upon  one  which  she  thought  would  be  of 
vast  service  to  her. 

The  advertisement  was  inquiring  for  a  copyist,  a  legible 
writer,  to  copy  old  documents,  wills,  etc.  The  work  could 
be  done  at  home,  if  desired.  Lawyer  Barker's  name  was 
signed  to  it. 

Lotta  proceeded  at  once  to  his  office,  applied  for  the  writ- 
ing, and  received  it  without  the  least  hesitation.  This  work 
Lotta  used  to  do  in  the  long  winter  evenings.  Not  having 


4  THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY. 

sewing  enough  to  keep  herself  as  busy  as  she  could  wish,  and 
her  mother  needing  the  little  delicacies  of  an  invalid,  Lotta  was 
very  grateful  for  being  able  to  supply  them  by  this  means. 

One  evening  Lotta  left  her  home  to  go  for  more  work. 
She  never  liked  to  leave  her  mother  alone  longer  than  she 
could  possibly  help ;  so  she  walked  as  fast  as  she  could, 
completed  her  business  in  haste,  and  returned  home.  Upon 
reaching  her  mother's  door,  she  heard  strange  voices  within  ; 
entering,  she  saw  Dr.  Chevaux  leaning  over  the  bed,  and 
Mrs.  Brown,  the  landlady,  standing  near  him.  Lotta  saw  at 
a  glance  that  her  mother  had  become  ill ;  and,  summoning  up 
her  courage  and  self-possession,  she  walked  quietty  to  the 
bedside,  and  inquired  the  cause  of  the  doctor's  presence. 

Her  mother  had  received  a  paralytic  shock,  she  was  told, 
and  the  doctor  entertained  no  hope  of  her  recover}*.  Over- 
whelmed with  grief,  Lotta  sank  into  a  chair,  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  for  some  time  remained  as  if  possessing 
neither  life  nor  motion ;  at  last,  by  a  powerful  effort,  she 
mastered  the  sudden  grief  at  her  heart,  and  was  able  to  attend 
to  the  doctor,  who  was  making  every  effort  to  restore  the 
prostrate  woman  to  consciousness.  His  efforts  were  useless, 
however ;  and  for  six  long  days  and  nights  Lotta  sat  by  her 
mother's  bedside,  watching  and  listening  for  the  least  sign 
that  could  give  her  hope.  During  all  that  time  her  mother 
spoke  but  once  ;  and,  when  Lotta  stooped  to  catch  the  words, 
they  were  unintelligible.  She  made  several  attempts  to  speak 
after  that,  and  made  many  motions  and  signs,  which  Lotta 
could  not  understand.  She  would  have  moments  of  sudden 
consciousness ;  and,  while  Lotta  would  be  listening  atten- 
tively, she  would  become  delirious  again,  as  suddenly  as  she 
recovered  consciousness.  Lotta  knew  that  her  mother's  last 
moments  were  troubled  by  some  secret  that  she  wished  to 
communicate  ;  but  all  her  efforts  to  relieve  her  mind  were  un- 
availing, and  Mrs.  Hooper  died  without  making  known  what 
she  had  tried  so  hard  to  reveal. 


For  weeks  after  her  mother's  death  Lotta  was  unable  to 
work :  she  had  suffered  so  severely,  both  in  mind  and  body, 
during  her  mother's  illness,  that  her  constitution  failed  her 
in  any  further  efforts  against  nature ;  and,  prostrated  with 
fatigue  and  sorrow,  she  was  attacked  with  a  brain-fever  that 
threatened  her  life  or  reason.  Under  the  skilful  hands  of 
the  physician,  the  care  of  Mrs.  Brown,  and  the  kindness  of 
Lawyer  Barker,  she  rallied,  and  was  able  once  more  to  re- 
sume her  labors.  She  had  been  working  about  three  mouths 
after  her  illness,  when  we  introduced  her  to  the  reader.  TVc 
will  continue  our  narrative  now  from  Lotta's  return  home 
after  her  visit  to  Miss  Barker. 

"\Vhen  she  reached  her  lodgings,  Lotta  was  tired  and  out 
of  spirits ;  she  needed  all  the  work  she  could  get,  and  here 
was  her  first  drawback ;  she  dreaded  to  think  upon  Miss 
Barker's  threat,  knowing  how  proud  and  vindictive  she  was, 
and  feeling  sure  that  her  example  would  be  followed  by  those 
who  generally  looked  upon  her  as  a  leader  well  worth  fol- 
lowing. Sho  was  brooding  over  her  present  prospects  when 
Mrs.  Brown,  alwa}-s  cheerful  and  kind-hearted,  entered  the 
room  with  a  tray,  upon  which  were  a  cup  of  coffee,  hot  rolls, 
and  a  piece  of  broiled  steak,  which  she  had  prepared  as 
temptingly  as  possible,  to  see  if  she  could  coax  Lotta  to  cat. 
Lotta  told  her  what  had  happened  during  her  visit  to  Miss 
Barker's,  and  told  her  alsd  of  the  fears  she  had  of  the  gloomy 
future  before  her. 

Mrs.  Brown  mildly  expostulated  with  her  for  grieving  about 
it ;  telling  her  she  need  have  no  fears :  she  must  keep  Lotta 
with  her  always,  and  would  reduce  the  rent  so  low  that  she 
would  have  no  trouble  paj'ing  it.  She  urged  her  to  be  brave 
and  cheerful,  and  all  would  come  right  in  time.  Coaxing  her, 
as  she  would  a  child,  to  eat  something,  she  left  her  to  herself. 

Lotta  tried  hard  to  follow  Mrs.  Brown's  advice  ;  but  she 
found  it  difficult  work  in  her  present  state  of  mind.  Some 
heavv  weight  seemed  to  be  on  her  spirit,  and  she  could  not 


6  THE   UXKNOWrf  LEGACY. 

shake  it  off ;  she  attributed  it  to  her  recent  disappointment, 
and,  making  one  more  attempt  to  overcome  the  feeling,  she 
sat  down  before  the  tray  Mrs.  Brown  had  brought,  and  en- 
deavored to  eat  what  she  had  so  kindly  prepared  for  her.  It 
occurred  to  Lotta  that  perhaps  Miss  Barker's  conduct  towards 
her  might  influence  her  brother,  who  at  his  sister's  injunction 
would  probably  withdraw  the  work  he  had  supplied  her  with, 
and  upon  which  she  chiefly  depended  now. 

But  Lotta  little  knew  the  man  she  so  judged,  or  the  feelings 
with  which  he  regarded  her ;  she  little  knew  with  what  disgust 
he  viewed  his  sister's  selfish,  despotic  conduct,  or  how  he 
hated  the  cold,  unfeeling  disregard  of  another's  wants  which 
showed  itself  in  her  every  word  and  action. 

About  two  hours  after  Lotta  reached  home,  Mrs.  Brown 
answered  a  summons  at  the  door.  Upon  opening  it,  she  was 
confronted  by  a  tall,  dark  man,  who  asked  to  see  Miss 
Hooper ;  she  showed  him  into  the  parlor,  and  went  to  inform 
Lotta  of  her  visitor.  Lotta  was  a  little  startled  by  the  an- 
nouncement, as  she  knew  no  one  who  would  be  likely  to  call 
upon  her  at  that  hour ;  smoothing  her  disordered  hair  a  little, 
she  descended  to  the  parlor  to  her  visitor.  As  she  entered, 
a  stranger  rose  to  meet  her,  saying,  ' '  Miss  Hooper,  I  have  a 
very  unpleasant  duty  to  perform.  I  am  very  sorry  that  the 
task  has  devolved  upon  me ;  but  I  have  received  orders 
which  I  am  obliged  to  execute  at  the  expense  of  my  feelings. 

Lotta  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  him,  and  motioned  him 
to  proceed. 

Taking  a  piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  he  informed  her 
that  it  was  a  warrant  giving  him  the  power  to  search  the 
premises,  and  to  arrest  her  if  he  did  not  obtain  the  object  of 
his  search. 

"  Miss  Hooper,"  he  continued,  "  Miss  Adeline  Barker,  for 
whom  }-ou  work,  has  missed  a  gold  chain  since  your  visit  to 
her  this  morning.  She  has  had  the  house  searched,  and  it 
cannot  be  found.  She  affirms  that  you  were  the  only  person, 


THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY.  7 

besides  herself,  in  the  room  during  the  whole  forenoon  ;  that 
the  chain  was  upon  the  table  near  which  you  were  standing ; 
and  she  feels  certain  that  you  are  guilty  of  the  larceny.  If 
you  give  up  the  stolen  property,  she  promises  }'ou  pardon ; 
but,  if  you  refuse  to  do  this,  she  is  determined  to  prosecute 
you." 

The  detective  said  this  without  being  interrupted  once  ;  for 
the  terrible  charge  brought  against  her  completely  overpow- 
ered Lotta,  and  almost  deprived  her  of  speech.  When  she 
realized  her  situation  sufficiently  to  reply,  she  told  him  that 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  missing  article  ;  that  she  had  never 
seen  it,  and  was  perfectly  innocent  of  the  theft.  She  gave 
him  her  keys,  telling  him  that  he  might  search  her  rooms ; 
and,  if  it  was  found  with  her,  she  was  willing  to  suffer  the 
consequences.  Calling  Mrs.  Brown,  Lotta  told  her,  in  a  few 
hurried  words,  the  nature  of  her  visitor's  errand ;  and  the 
three  ascended  to  Lotta's  rooms. 

Detective  Peck  began  his  search,  looking  into  every  corner 
and  crevice,  and  at  last  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up,  when 
his  eye  rested  upon  an  old  trunk  in  an  out-of-the-way  place 
in  one  of  the  large  closets.  Lotta  produced  the  key  of  it ; 
he  opened  it,  removed  some  of  the  articles  of  clothing  on  the 
top,  and  came  upon  a  beautiful  work-box.  When  he  brought 
it  forth,  Lotta  looked  at  it  with  mingled  surprise  and  curiosity. 
The  detective  could  not  open  it,  and  requested  Lotta  to  do 
so.  She  replied  that  she  had  never  known  of  the  existence 
of  such  a  box,  and  could  no  more  open  it  than  he  himself 
could. 

"  Well,  Miss  Hooper,"  said  the  officer,  "  I  will  be  obliged 
to  break  the  box." 

"  Sir,"  she  answered,  "  the  object  of  your  search  is  not  in 
that  box.  I  will  not  allow  it  to  be  broken  open  ;  you  may 
take  possession  of  it  for  the  present ;  and,  if  you  can  open 
it  without  breaking  it,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so  ;  but,  if  it 
is  injured,  it  will  cost  Miss  Barker  more  than  it  is  worth." 


8  THE    UXKNOWN    LEGACY. 

Failing  in  his  search  to  discover  the  chain,  he  turned  to 
Lotta,  sa}*ing, — 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Hooper,  that  my  duty  compels  me  to 
arrest  3"ou.  I  believe  you  to  be  innocent  of  the  charge  against 
you,  and  it  will  take  but  little  to  prove  that  you  are  wrongly 
suspected.  But  I  must  obey  my  orders ;  therefore  you  must 
accompany  me." 

"Mr.  Peck,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  "she  must  go  in  a  car- 
riage :  that  will  not  interfere  with  your  duty ;  she  cannot  go 
through  the  streets  like  a  criminal." 

The  detective  agreed  to  Mrs.  Brown's  proposal ;  and  poor 
Lotta,  with  heavy  heart  and  aching  head,  entered  the  carriage 
with  tho  officer,  who  carried  the  nysterious  box,  and  Mrs. 
Brown,  whose  belief  in  her  innocence,  and  kind,  motherly 
ministrations  touched  Lotta  deeply. 

Poor  Lotta  had  a  hard  fight  against  poverty,  sickness,  and 
sorrow  ;  but  never  until  now  did  she  have  to  array  her  strength 
against  disgrace.  Punishment  she  had  no  fear  of;  but,  oh! 
the  mortification  of  bearing  disgrace,  and  hearing  her  name 
reproached ;  that  was  the  trial,  the  hardest  she  had  ever 
known. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  police-station,  the  officer  in  at- 
tendance was  very  kind  and  considerate.  He  took  down  her 
name  and  residence,  and,  it  being  her  first  offence,  he  offered 
to  allow  her  to  go  home  until  the  next  week,  if  she  could 
procure  bail  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred  dollars.  Mrs. 
Brown  produced  it  in  a  short  time,  and  was  delighted  when 
she  and  Lotta  were  once  more  at  home. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  she  said ;  "all  these  trials  will  lead 
to  something  good.  Rest  assured  that  they  have  not  been 
laid  upon  you  by  an  all-wise  Providence  without  some  reward 
following  them,  even  in  this  life ;  we  must  bear  them  pa- 
tiently for  a  while,  and  in  His  own  good  time  He  will  clear 
away  all  the  clouds  that  now  darken  your  life,  and  the  future 
will  be  brighter  because  of  the  darkness  of  the  past." 


THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY.  9 

Good-hearted,  faithful  Mrs.  Brown  !  it  were  well  for  us  if 
we  could  always  find  a  face  and  voice  and  heart  like  thine, 
in  our  need ;  it  were  well,  if,  bending  beneath  our  burden 
of  care,  we  could  find  as  kindly  a  hand  as  thine  to  lift  and 
bsar  it  with  us ;  and,  oh !  it  were  well,  indeed,  if,  in  our 
darkest  night  of  bitterness  and  misery,  we  could  find  one 
little  glimmer  of  the  light  of  faith  emanating  from  a  heart 
poor  in  spirit,  like  thine. 

Lotta  was  patient  and  gentle  in  her  suffering,  and  did  not 
breathe  the  slightest  word  of  reproach  against  the  cause  of 
it.  Biding  her  time,  she  felt,  with  Mrs.  Brown,  that  the 
clouds  would  soon  roll  away,  and  leave  her  in  a  flood  of  sun- 
shine that  would  pour  into  and  fill  up  the  wounds  of  her 
soul,  and  they  would  be  healed  forever. 

After  Lotta  had  left  Miss  Barker,  that  lady  continued  her 
toilet.  It  could  never  be  complete  unless  she  wore  the  gold 
chain,  her  father's  gift  before  his  death.  She  could  find  it 
nowhere ;  and  Miss  Barker,  alwaj's  suspicious,  at  once  ac- 
cused Miss  Hooper  of  the  theft.  She  having  firmly  estab- 
lished Lotta's  guilt,  according  to  her  own  judgment,  sent 
immediately  for  an  officer,  acquainted  him  with  the  circum- 
stances, and  ordered  him  to  arrest  Lotta,  if  she  did  not 
deliver  up  the  chain.  He  proceeded  to  execute  his  com- 
mands, while  Miss  Barker  took  her  drive  in  her  usual  mood. 
Returning  home,  Miss  Barker  found  a  note  from  her  brother 
awaiting  her ;  she  learned  from  its  contents  that  an  unusual 
amount  of  business  would  prevent  him  from  joining  herself 
and  Judge  Meredith  at  dinner,  but  said  he  would  meet  them 
at  Mrs.  Long's  reception  in  the  evening. 

By  the  dissatisfaction  pictured  in  Miss  Barker's  counten- 
ance, she  evidently  did  not  like  the  intelligence  it  conveyed. 
"Business,  alwaj's  business!"  she  said,  petulantly;  "and 
Judge  Meredith  coming,  with  no  one  to  entertain  him  while 
I  am  dressing  for  the  ball.  I  declare,  he  is  growing  more 


10  THK    UNKNOWN    LEG  ACT. 

and  more  selfish  every  day  ;  he  never  yet  gave  up  a  business 
call  to  gratify  me ;  he  knows  I  need  him  more  to-day  than 
ever,  and  that 's  just  the  reason  he  has  disappointed  me." 

Thus  selfish  people  are  always  looking  for  the  same  spirit 
in  others. 

Miss  Barker's  annoyance,  however,  did  not  prevent  her 
from  enjoying  the  lunch  before  her  ;  and,  after  having  finished 
it,  she  enjoyed  to  a  greater  degree  the  two  hours'  rest  she 
took  before  beginning  her  preparations  for  the  evening.  She 
was  standing  before  the  large  mirror,  taking  a  last  look  at 
herself  before  joining  Judge  Meredith  in  the  hall,  when  Katie 
entered  the  room,  holding  in  her  hand  the  chain  which  caused 
Lotta  such  trouble  and  anxiety  as  Miss  Barker  could  never 
know,  nor  her  hard  nature  ever  imagine. 

Miss  Barker  examined  it,  asked  where  it  had  come  from, 
and  how  it  had  been  taken  from  the  room.  Katie  replied 
that  Daisy,  a  three-year-old  niece  of  Miss  Barker's,  who, 
with  her  nurse  Katie,  had  been  staying  there  during  her 
mother's  illness,  must  have  got  into  the  room  and  taken  the 
chain  from  the  table.  Katie  had  found  it  around  Daisy's 
doll.  Kate  received  a  harsh  reprimand  for  not  taking  better 
care  of  her  charge  than  to  leave  her  out  of  her  sight ;  and 
then  Miss  Barker  coolly  placed  the  article  in  her  drawer, 
saying  she  would  send  word  to  Miss  Hooper  in  the  morning, 
telling  her  that  her  innocence  was  established. 

She  descended  to  the  parlor,  where  she  had  left  Judge 
Meredith.  His  glance,  as  it  rested  upon  her,  was  mingled 
with  pride  and  admiration.  Miss  Barker  noticed  it,  and  she 
was  satisfied :  she  was  anxious  to  please  the  Judge  for  par- 
ticular reasons  of  her  own ;  and,  when  she  succeeded,  she 
felt  at  ease.  We  will  leave  them  on  their  way  to  Mrs. 
Long's,  and  will  wait  for  Lawyer  Barker's  return  from  the 
city. 

When  the  lawyer  reached  home,  he  went  directly  to  his 
own  room  to  dress  for  the  ball.  As  he  was  coming  down- 


THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY.  11 

stairs,  he  overheard  the  following  conversation  between  the 
housekeeper  and  Katie  : — 

"Do  you  tell  me  that  Miss  Barker  did  not  send  word  to 
Miss  Hooper  yet  ?  " 

"No,  she  did  not ;  and  I  am  afraid  that  the  poor  girl  will 
feel  miserable  and  unhappy  to-night.  If  I  knew  where  she 
lived,  I  would  go  myself  and  tell  her  that  the  chain  has  been 
found." 

"  It  is  a  shame,"  the  housekeeper  spoke  again,  "  to  accuse 
a  poor  girl  of  stealing,  and,  when  the  article  of  which  she 
has  been  accused  has  been  found,  to  leave  her  so  long  a 
tune  without  telling  her  of  her  innocence." 

Mr.  Barker  here  came  upon  them,  inquired  what  had  hap- 
pened, and,  when  he  had  heard  the  full  account,  started  at 
once  for  Miss  Hooper's  lodgings. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  glad  when  she  saw  the  lawyer's  frank, 
open  face  ;  for  she  knew  that  he  believed  in  Lotta's  innocence, 
and  would  console  her  by  telling  her  of  his  implicit  confidence 
in  her  integrity.  Reaching  Lotta's  room,  he  found  her,  as 
he  had  expected,  dejected  and  spiritless.  She  was  very  pale, 
and  was  suffering  from  a  severe  headache, — the  effect  of  the 
day's  excitement.  He  shook  hands  with  her  warmly,  and 
hastened  to  relieve  her  mind  of  its  awful  burden. 

"Miss  Hooper,"  he  began,  "  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  that 
you  should  suffer  so  much  from  an  unjust  accusation,  and  it 
grieves  me  very  much  that  my  own  sister  should  be  the  cause 
of  it.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  her.  She  has  been  hasty  and 
unjust  in  her  suspicions  of  you :  we  have  found  the  chain 
which  has  caused  you  so  much  trouble." 

Lotta's  joy  was  more  like  gratitude  upon  hearing  him  say 
she  was  free  from  all  imputation  ;  and  she  expressed  herself 
truly  grateful  to  him  for  his  kindness  in  coming  to  relieve 
her  distress.  Mr.  Barker  promised  to  deliver  her  casket  into 
,  her  own  hands  in  the  morning. 

He  would  like  to  have  remained  longer ;  but  the  lateness 


12  THE    UNKNOWN    LEG  ACT. 

of  the  hour,  and  the  engagement  he  was  under,  obliged  him 
to  depart ;  so,  bidding  her  good-night,  and  hoping  that  she 
would  soon  recover  from  the  shock  she  had  received,  he  left 
her,  and  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Long's  grand  drawing-rooms. 

Standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  young  people,  chat- 
ting and  laughing,  he  saw  his  sister;  gazing  at  her  for  a 
moment,  he  turned  away,  saying  to  himself,  "Is  it  possible 
that  she  is  so  incapable  of  all  womanly  delicacy  or  feeling, 
that  no  thought  of  the  wrong  she  has  done  another  ever 
enters  her  mind  ?  or  can  it  be  that  pleasure  and  her  own 
interests  have  completely  blotted  out  the  honor  and  nobility 
of  soul  of  a  true  woman?  Selfish  to  the  last,"  he  muttered, 
as  he  approached  her.  Judge  Meredith  was  to  be  their 
guest  for  the  night ;  so,  the  next  morning,  the  two  men  started 
for  the  city  together.  When  near  the  police-station,  Mr. 
Barker  said,  "  I  have  business  in  here  this  morning ;  will  j*ou 
come  in  and  wait  ?  " 

"  Certainty,"  was  the  reply ;  and  they  both  entered. 

Judge  Meredith  sat  down  upon  one  of  the  benches,  while 
Mr.  Barker  explained,  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  officers, 
that  Miss  Hooper  was  innocent  of  the  charge  brought  against 
her.  The  casket  was  placed  in  his  hands  to  bo  returned  to 
the  owner.  At  the  sight  of  the  casket,  Judge  Meredith  ap- 
proached the  lawyer,  and  asked  him  to  let  him  see  it  for  a 
moment.  Mr.  Barker  handed  it  to  him.  "It  is  a  curious 
box,"  said  the  officer :  "  no  one  here  can  open  it." 

The  Judge  placed  his  thumb  upon  the  stem  of  one  of  the 
flowers  carved  on  the  top  of  the  casket,  and  it  sprang  open. 
Upon  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  the  name  "  Geraldine," 
in  large  letters.  "  This  casket,"  said  the  Judge,  "  has  been 
in  my  possession  before.  To  whom  does  it  belong?" 

"To  a  Miss  Hooper,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  I  must  see  her,"  said  Judge  Meredith. 

They  both  went  directly  to  Lotta's,  and  found  her  busy 
sewing.  She  rose  to  meet  them,  and  Mr.  Barker  introduced 


THE    UNKNOWN    LEGACY.  13 

Judge  Meredith.  The  instant  Lotta  looked  at  him  she  re- 
membered the  face  as  being  that  of  the  gentleman  who  had 
presented  her  with  the  pearl  necklace  on  the  day  of  her 
graduation.  Mr.  Barker  told  her  that  the  Judge  had  opened 
the  casket,  and  had  asked  to  be  brought  to  her  immediately. 

••  Miss  Hooper,"  said  the  Judge,  "•  I  am  very  much  inclined 
to  the  belief  that  we  are  related :  you  are  the  image  of  my 
dear  sister.  Was  your  mother's  name  Geraldine  Meredith?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

'•Well,  I  feel  sure  that  you  are  my  niece;  your  mother 
was  obliged  to  leave  her  home,  when  only  seventeen  3'ears 
old,  in  consequence  of  a  marriage  with  Charles  Hooper,  who 
was  then  a  clerk  in  my  father's  establishment.  My  father 
was  so  exasperated  at  the  event  that  j'our  mother  was  obliged 
to  either  leave  her  home  or  her  husband.  She  chose  the 
former.  I  was  away  at  school  when  the  affair  took  place. 
She  came  to  the  college  to  bid  me  good-by,  and  said  she  was 
going  to  Belgium ;  she  was  very  happy,  she  told  me,  and 
loved  her  husband  devotedly.  When  I  had  finished  at  school, 
I  went  to  Belgium  to  seek  her ;  but  she  had  left  there  ;  no 
one  could  tell  me  where  she  had  gone.  While  I  was  away, 
she  had  written  to  me,  telling  me  she  had  returned  to  Eng- 
land, that  her  husband's  health  was  failing.  The  letters  fell 
into  my  father's  hands,  and  it  was  only  after  his  death  that 
I  found  them." 

"  My  mother  often  spoke  of  a  young  brother,  of  whom 
she  was  very  fond ;  she  had  written  to  him  frequently,  but 
never  received  an  answer ;  so,  after  many  years  of  disap- 
pointment, she  ceased  writing  to  him  altogether,  supposing 
that  he  had  imbibed  his  father's  hatred.  My  mother  and 
father  were  very  happy  together  ;  and  my  mother  never  fully 
recovered  from  the  shock  occasioned  by  my  father's  death, 
which  occurred  seven  years  after  their  marriage." 

Examining  the  casket,  they  found  many  costly  jewels ;  a 
handsome  gold  watch  and  chain,  —  the  last  gift  that  Mrs. 


14  THE   UNKNOWN   LEGACY. 

Hooper's  father  ever  gave  his  daughter ;  the  casket  itself  was 
the  Judge's  present  to  his  sister  on  her  sixteenth  birthday. 
Lotta  gave  her  uncle  an  entire  account  of  her  mother's  life 
and  death,  her  unselfish  spirit,  and  the  love  and  kindness  she 
had  lavished  upon  her  only  child. 

Judge  Meredith  took  his  niece  home  with  him,  where  she 
was  placed  upon  an  equal  footing  with  Miss  Barker,  who 
tried  her  utmost  to  gain  Lotta's  friendship,  that  she  might 
succeed  in  securing  the  Judge  for  a  husband  worthy  of  be- 
stowing her  graces  upon.  Lotta,  however,  remembering  the 
great  injury  done  her,  never  favored  her  designs  in  the  least ; 
and,  fearing  more  than  all  that  her  uncle's  happiness  would 
be  forever  destroyed  if  he  chose  Miss  Barker  for  a  wife,  she 
kept  herself  at  such  a  distance  that  that  3'oung  lad}r  was  fain 
to  give  up  her  attempts  to  conciliate  her,  and  retreated  each 
tune  more  crestfallen  than  before. 

Lotta  went  with  her  uncle  to  Europe,  where  they  remained 
for  three  years.  There  she  was  more  than  once  solicited  in 
marriage  ;  but  her  heart  was  already  given. 

At  last,  one  morning,  there  was  a  quiet  wedding  in  the 
little  church  of  St.  John's.  Judge  Meredith  gave  away  the 
bride,  and  Lawyer  Barker  was  made  a  happy  man. 

The  Judge  never  married  ;  but  always  lived  with  his  niece. 
He  could  not  part  with  her  so  readUy  just  after  he  had  found 
her.  Lotta  always  loved  and  cared  for  him,  and  he  was  a 
source  of  the  greatest  delight  to  little  Charles  and  Lotta,  who 
used  to  shout  and  clap  their  hands  for  joy  at  the  sight  of  him. 

Miss  Barker  married,  but  was  not  happy  ;  nor  her  husband, 
who,  a  short  time  after  marriage,  met  with  heavy  losses  in 
business,  and  thus,  being  unable  to  yield  to  his  wife's  wishes, 
was  at  continual  warfare  with  her.  She  never  changed ;  but 
was  alwa}'s  the  same  cold,  selfish,  hard-hearted  woman  as 
she  had  been  when  Adeline  Barker. 


THE  DOUBLE  TRAGEDY. 


THE  town  of  Kilerafton  was  draped  in  mourning,  and  a 
dark  gloom  hung  over  the  whole  countoy ;  for  its  wealthy  and 
respected  Baronet  had  been  found  dead  in  his  bed.  He  had 
been  stabbed  through  the  heart,  and  no  one  could  tell  by 
whom  the  deed  had  been  committed. 

The  theory  of  suicide  could  not  for  a  moment  be  enter- 
tained, as  there  was  no  instrument  near  him  to  prove  that 
he  had  taken  his  own  life.  If  he  had  been  murdered,  rob- 
bery was  not  the  perpetrator's  design  ;  for  his  desk  and  safe, 
which  were  always  kept  in  this  apartment,  were  untouched, 
and  not  even  an  article  of  furniture  had  been  removed  from 
its  accustomed  place.  Who  was  the  assassin?  The  doors 
were  locked,  the  windows  barred,  and  all  means  of  entrance 
had  been  closed.  Some  one  must  have  got  in  during  the 
day,  and,  secreting  himself  in  some  unfrequented  part  of  the 
house,  had  come  forth  in  the  darkness  and  silence  of  night 
and  done  his  bloody  work.  This  was  what  the  bereaved 
family  of  the  murdered  Baronet  supposed,  when  the  morning 
light  showed  them  the  cold,  white  face,  that,  peaceful  and 
happy,  had  kissed  and  blessed  them  only  the  night  before. 
It  was  maddening  to  think  of  it ;  and  the  wife,  prostrate 
with  grief,  offered  a  large  reward  for  the  capture  of  the 
guilty  party  or  parties.  But,  when  the  authorities  searched 
the  premises,  they  discovered  that  a  small  window,  barely 
large  enough  for  a  very  slight  man  to  get  through,  in  one  of 
the  attics,  had  been  opened.  It  was  supposed  then  that  the 


16  THE   DOUBLE   TRAGEDY. 

perpetrator  had  entered  this  window,  and,  quietly  descending 
the  stairs,  found  the  remainder  of  his  work  easy  to  accom- 
plish. 

The  young  master  of  the  house,  who  would  now  succeed 
his  father,  had  been  away  for  more  than  two  weeks,  on  busi- 
ness for  the  Baronet.  He  had  been  made  aware  of  his 
father's  death,  and  was  hourly  expected.  The  officials,  in 
the  mean  time,  had  rigidly  interrogated  the  servants ;  but 
no  light  was  thrown  upon  the  subject.  None  of  them  had 
seen  their  young  master  since  he  had  left  the  castle ;  they 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  to  alarm  them  during  tli3 
night ;  they  bore  witness  to  the  goodness  and  generosity  of 
their  late  master,  and  were  loud  and  earnest  in  their  mani- 
festations of  grief  for  him.  Several  arrests  were  made  during 
the  ensuing  week ;  but  the  suspected  parties  proved  their 
innocence  beyond  a  doubt,  so  they  were  all  liberated  after  a 
short  time. 

The  young  Baronet  attended  his  father's  funeral,  with  cveiy 
mark  of  the  deepest  and  bitterest  sorrow.  Affairs  resumed 
their  wonted  quiet,  though  each  inhabitant  of  the  quaint  little 
town  harbored  within  his  breast  a  secret  dread  that  an  un- 
known assassin  walked  in  their  midst.  Detectives  worked 
untiringly  upon  the  case ;  but  the  mystery  surrounding  it 
baffled  all  their  endeavors. 

A  year  rolled  by,  and  the  anniversary  of  the  murder  was 
approaching.  The  Baronet's  death  had  made  a  great  change 
in  his  family.  His  two  daughters,  who  idolized  their  father, 
had  never  ceased  to  weep  over  his  memory.  His  wife,  who 
had  been  one  of  the  gayest  and  most  fashionable  ladies  of 
her  time,  had  grown  a  quiet,  reserved  woman,  who  seemed 
to  have  continually  before  her  the  image  of  a,  dark  and  ghastly 
picture  of  which  she  could  not  rid  herself.  But  a  greater 
difference  was  noticed  in  the  conduct  and  character  of  tho 
young  Baronet.  He  had  been  a  wild,  reckless  lad,  although 
a  gay  and  cheerful  one  ;  he  had  grown  to  manhood  profligate 


THE    DOUBLE    TRAGEDY.  17 

and  sensual,  a  disgrace  to  himself  and  his  family.  He  cared 
neither  for  his  father's  threats  nor  his  mother's  counsels,  and 
his  sisters'  entreaties  he  had  spurned.  Now,  a  year  after  the 
event  related  above,  he  was  a  care-worn,  restless,  melancholy 
man,  who  was  miserable  and  spiritless  among  strangers,  and 
terrified  beyond  endurance  when  at  his  own  fireside.  Ever 
on  the  alert,  he  would  undertake  a  journey,  and,  before  it 
was  half  accomplished,  would  return  home,  more  weaiy  and 
anxious  than  ever.  He  would  range  the  house  at  night,  to 
the  bewilderment  of  his  sisters  and  the  dread  of  his  mother, 
the  latter  always  watching  and  following  him  when  she  could 
do  so  without  being  noticed.  He  could  not  or  would  not 
give  any  reason  for  his  conduct  upon  such  occasions,  and 
did  not  want  to  be  questioned  about  it,  as  he  imperiously  told 
his  sisters  one  morning  at  the  breakfast-table. 

The  nearer  the  approach  of  the  anniversary ,  the  more  rest- 
less and  careworn  the  Baronet  grew,  until  even  the  servants 
themselves  noticed  a  strange,  wild  fire  in  his  eyes,  an  unsteady 
quivering  of  his  thin  lips  when  he  addressed  them ;  and, 
altogether,  he  seemed  to  possess  a  fierceness  in  his  manner, 
mingled  with  fear  and  despair,  which  made  them  dread  and 
avoid  him.  It  was  useless  trying  to  quiet  him :  he  grew 
worse  as  they  proceeded,  until  at  last  his  mother  began  to 
fear  that  he  would  certainly  injure  himself. 

A  few  weeks  before  the  anniversary  of  that  fatal  night,  the 
young  Baronet  had  left  his  home  to  attend  to  some  business 
matters.  His  return  had  been  expected  sooner ;  but  he 
wrote,  saying  that  his  absence  would  be  unavoidably  pro- 
longed. 

The  morning  following  the  anniversary,  the  whole  town 
was  startled  by  the  horrible  revelation  that  the  wife  of  the 
deceased  Baronet  had  met  with  the  same  fate  as  her  husband. 
The  authorities  were  once  more  summoned,  and  the  same  in- 
quiries and  investigations  gone  through  with ;  the  work  was 
done  quietly ;  contrary  to  the  last  murder,  no  arrests  were 


18  THE    DOUBLE    TUAGEDY 

made,  and  no  one  seemed  to  be  the  suspected  party.  Some 
weeks  after  the  funeral,  the  young  Baronet  was  arrested. 

The  detectives  had  worked  upon  the  case  day  and  night ; 
and  the  conclusion  they  arrived  at  was,  that  both  murders 
had  been  committed  by  the  same  person,  with  the  same  or 
like  instrument,  in  the  same  manner,  and  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, unknown  to  the  officers.  They  reasoned,  further,  that 
only  some  one  who  knew  and  understood  the  family  and  the 
means  of  entering  the  house  could  have  committed  the  deed. 
Putting  their  various  surmises  together,  they  all  agreed  that 
suspicion  strongly  pointed  to  the  3*ouug  master  of  the  house. 
Soon  after  his  arrest,  the  young  Baronet  confessed  Ms  guilt. 
The  story,  briefly  told,  is  as  follows  :  — 

The  first  wife  of  the  murdered  Baronet  died  when  quite 
young.  She  had  borne  him  two  girls,  the  youngest  being 
but  an  infant  when  her  mother  died.  About  three  years  after 
his  wife's  death,  the  Baronet,  while  travelling,  fell  in  with  a 
gypsy  company.  Among  the  females  of  the  band  was  a 
beautiful  girl,  whose  dark  eyes,  expressive  countenance,  and 
bewitching  voice  had  completely  captivated  the  Baronet.  He 
travelled  with  them  until  he  reached  one  of  the  large  cities, 
where  they  were  married.  They  both  left  their  companions, 
and  continued  their  journey  together. 

Being  young,  handsome,  intelligent,  and  witty,  she  was 
admired  and  flattered  wherever  they  went.  The  Baronet  was 
proud  of  her :  but  her  haughty,  petulant  disposition  made 
him  fear  that  his  household  would  no  longer  be  a  peaceful 
one  when  she  would  become  its  mistress.  More  than  all, 
he  trembled  for  his  little  girls,  who  had  inherited  their 
mother's  gentle,  sensitive  disposition.  He  regretted  the  step 
he  had  taken,  in  less  than  a  month ;  but  it  could  not  be 
helped :  so  he  determined  to  make  the  best  of  it,  by  hiding 
his  feelings  and  complying  with  the  wishes  of  his  wife. 

Soon  after  the  Baronet  brought  his  gypsy  bride  home,  he 
was  continually  harassed  with  complaints  about  the  servants, 


THE    DOUBLE    TKAGEOi.  19 

with  new  plans  and  arrangements,  and  numerous  other  griev- 
ances, that  made  him  bitterly  regret  the  mistake  which  he 
could  never  rectify.  She  domineered  over  the  servants,  dis- 
charged them  at  a  moment's  provocation,  and  gave  no  satis- 
faction to  her  husband  for  her  conduct.  His  two  little  girls 
had  a  terrible  fear  of  her.  Although  the  Baronet  never  saw 
her  violent  with  them,  he  knew  well  that  in  his  absence  she 
was  anything  but  a  mother  to  them ;  he  could  elicit  noth- 
ing from  the  children,  as  they  were  never  for  a  moment 
alone. 

Affairs  went  on  in  this  way  for  two  years,  when  an  heir 
was  born  to  the  Baronet.  As  this  child  grew  up,  he  showed 
himself  more  and  more  like  his  mother,  both  in  features  and 
disposition ;  treacherous  and  capricious  like  her,  his  two 
sisters  often  suffered  from  his  ill-humor  ;  desiring,  if  possible, 
to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  household,  as  well  as  not  to 
annoy  their  father,  they  refrained  from  ever  complaining  be- 
fore him. 

Growing  up  to  youth,  he  displa}'ed  his  gypsy  nature  to 
such  an  extent  as  to  be  away  whole  days  together ;  his  com- 
panions would  be  the  most  riotous  and  unprincipled  youths 
of  the  town  ;  gambling  and  betting  were  his  principal  amuse- 
ments ;  and  in  this  shameful  conduct  he  was  upheld  by  his 
mother.  All  his  father's  threats  were  of  no  avail,  while  his 
mother  supplied  him  with  all  that  was  necessary  for  his  dis- 
sipated life. 

At  length  the  Baronet  became  so  enraged  at  the  disgrace 
brought  upon  his  name  that  he  determined  to  disinherit  him, 
telling  his  mother  so  in  plain  terms.  After  this  the  whole 
house  was  in  continual  disturbance.  The  wife  broke  out  into 
incontrollable  fits  of  anger,  abusing  and  insulting  her  hus- 
band ;  fiercely  declaring  to  him,  in  her  gyps}r  fashion,  that 
she  would  have  revenge  upon  him  if  he  dared  to  disinherit 
her  son.  Notwithstanding  her  fiery  speeches  and  threatening 
Language,  the  Baronet  remained  firm  ;  and,  seeing  that  all 


20  THE    DOUBLE    TRAGEDY. 

her  efforts  to  change  him  were  fruitless,  she  vowed  within  her 
heart  that  he  would  never  execute  his  design. 

One  night,  when  the  whole  household  had  gone  to  rest,  she 
stole  noiselessly  to  her  son's  room,  awoke  him,  and  bade  him 
listen  to  her  and  obey  her  commands.  The  young  Baronet, 
for  the  first  time,  heard  of  his  father's  intention ;  and  he 
drank  in,  with  every  word  that  his  mother  uttered,  the  spirit 
of  her  fierce  and  terrible  revenge. 

She  unfolded  her  plan ;  and  to  his  hard  and  unrelenting 
nature  the  deed  he  was  to  commit  seemed  nothing  more  than 
a  frolic. 

She  told  him  to  leave  home  upon  the  morrow ;  to  remain  at 
a  certain  hotel  in  the  city,  under  the  pretence  of  business ; 
he  was  not  to  return  until  midnight  Thursday,  —  it  was  Satur- 
day then, — she  would  watch  for  him,  and  let  him  in;  he 
must  proceed  to  his  father's  room,  and,  with  a  dagger  which 
she  would  furnish  him,  take  his  father's  life.  In  the  mean 
tune  she  would  unbar  the  window  in  one  of  the  attics,  break 
the  glass,  and  it  would  be  supposed  that  the  assassin  had 
gained  an  entrance  and  escaped  by  this  means.  He  would 
then  return  to  the  city,  and  she  would  see  that  all  traces  of 
his  visit  would  be  covered  up. 

She  warned  him  that  a  longer  delay  might  prove  fatal  to 
their  hopes  ;  as  the  Baronet  was  determined  to  make  a  will, 
cutting  him  off  from  all  claims  to  his  estate,  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. His  covetous  nature  was  aroused ;  and,  agreeing  with 
his  mother,  he  prepared  at  once  to  follow  her  directions.  He 
left  home  in  the  morning,  and  returned  at  midnight  Thurs- 
day, accomplished  his  design,  and  escaped  conviction,  as 
above  related.  But,  during  the  year  that  followed,  his  re- 
morse was  unbearable,  and  the  sight  of  his  mother  worked 
him  into  a  frenzy  of  horror  and  despair.  Upon  the  approach 
of  the  anniversary  of  his  terrible  work,  he  became  so  enraged 
against  his  mother  for  having  brought  so  much  misery  upon 
him,  and  he  was  so  tormented  at  the  sight  of  her,  that  he 


THE    DOUBLE    TRAGEDY.  21 

was  goaded  into  murdering  her ;  and,  having  escaped  all  de- 
tection in  his  father's  murder,  he  adopted  the  same  method  of 
ridding  himself  of  his  mother.  This  was  the  ver3r  reason  that 
he  was  suspected  ;  because  he  had  placed  himself  in  the  same 
circumstances  in  both  cases,  and  the  murders  were  committed 
in  a  similar  manner. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  frighten  him  into  making  a  confession. 
His  nerves  were  shattered,  his  constitution  broken,  and  his 
mind  was  growing  weak  and  feeble. 

Before  his  sentence  was  passed,  and  when  he  had  been  only 
a  few  weeks  in  confinement,  he  became  insane,  and  had  to  be 
placed  in  an  asylum,  where  he  died  in  less  than  a  year. 


22  SAVED  FROM  THE  TOMB. 


SAVED  FROM  THE  TOMB. 


MB.  BELL,  a  well-to-do  linen  merchant,  had  married  the 
beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter  of  Lawyer  Carson.  They 
had  been  married  only  a  few  months,  when  Mrs.  Bell,  with- 
out any  apparent  cause,  was  taken  sick,  and  died  rather 
suddenly.  The  doctor's  efforts  to  discover  the  disease  of 
which  she  died  were  useless.  The  mystery  surrounding  her 
sickness  and  death  baffled  all  their  endeavors  to  unravel  it. 
The  third  night  after  her  burial,  Mr.  Bell  was  walking  rest- 
lessly to  and  fro  in  the  room  in  which  she  had  died ;  sorrow 
was  heavy  upon  him,  and  he  could  not  sleep.  It  had  struck 
twelve  o'clock,  and  yet  he  continued  his  weary  pacing  up  and 
down.  Every  thing  in  the  room  spoke  to  him  of  the  young 
and  beautiful  wife  he  had  laid  away  in  the  tomb ;  memory 
was  busy  within  him,  and  awakened  a  thousand  sweet  and 
gentle  recollections  of  her  whom  in  his  youthful  passion  he 
idolized,  and  whose  dear  presence  for  the  last  few  months 
had  gladdened  his  home. 

As  he  was  musing  upon  all  this,  he  heard  the  gate  open, 
and  a  light  step  came  up  the  lawn.  He  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  it :  he  was  too  utterly  cast  down  to  notice  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  or  the  unusual  circumstance  of  a  visitor 
at  that  time  of  the  night.  The  person  stopped  before  the 
front  door,  when  a  loud  knocking  ensued. 

The  footman,  James,  who  slept  upon  the  ground-floor, 
thinking  that  the  person  must  have  important  business  with 
his  master,  immediately  answered  the  summons.  Upon  open- 


SAVED  FROM  THE  TOMB.  23 

ing  the  door  he  shrieked  wildly,  and  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 
The  door,  in  the  mean  time,  had  been  closed  again  with  the 
wind,  leaving  the  strange  cause  of  fright  without.  The 
household  was  soon  aroused  b}r  the  loud,  continued  knocking 
outside.  One  of  the  servants  unlocked  the  door  a  second 
time,  and,  trembling  with  fear,  stood  gazing  upon  the  form 
and  face  of  his  late  mistress.  Almost  unconscious  with  terror, 
he  allowed  her  to  pass  him  and  enter  the  house.  Here  the 
wildest  confusion  ensued  :  the  timid  and  superstitious  servants 
fled  in  all  directions,  heedless  of  their  mistress's  persuasions 
and  assurances  that  she  was  alive,  and,  leaving  her  questions 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Bell  unanswered,  she  was  ob- 
liged to  seek  him  herself. 

Upon  reaching  the  first  landing,  she  met  her  husband,  who 
was  going  down  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 
He  was  for  a  moment  startled  by  the  sudden  apparition  ;  but, 
hearing  the  sweet  voice,  he  was  assured  of  her  living  pres- 
ence, and  in  a  transport  of  joy  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and 
showered  kisses  and  benedictions  upon  her. 

Collecting  the  servants,  he  relieved  their  fears  by  declaring 
that  it  was  indeed  their  late  mistress,  who,  by  some  un- 
accountable intervention,  had  been  saved  from  a  living 
grave. 

Mrs.  Bell  related  what  she  knew  of  her  deliverance  from 
the  tomb.  She  said  that  the  first  sensation  she  felt  was  a 
heavy  weight  around  her  heart ;  in  a  moment  this  feeling  left 
her,  and  she  felt  the  blood  flowing  freely  through  her  veins. 
Raising  herself  in  her  coffin,  she  beheld  a  dull  light  at  its  foot ; 
then  she  knew  that  some  one  had  been  in  the  tomb,  and  by 
some  means  had  awakened  her  from  her  trance.  Gathering 
her  shroud  around  her,  she  prepared  to  leave  the  coffin, 
when  for  the  first  tune  she  experienced  a  terrible  pain  in  her 
left  hand.  Upon  examining  it,  she  discovered  that  the  third 
finger  had  been  almost  severed,  for  the  purpose,  she  supposed, 
of  obtaining  the  valuable  ring  upon  it. 


24  SAVED  FROM  THE  TOMB. 

It  was  years  afterward,  when  Mrs.  Bell  had  become  the 
mother  of  three  girls  as  beautiful  as  herself,  and  as  many 
boys  as  good  and  noble  as  their  father,  that  the  real  cause 
of  her  timely  deliverance  was  made  known.  At  the  time  of 
her  illness  a  young  and  ambitious  physician  had  come  to 
practise  in  the  town.  When  all  remedies  and  doctors  had 
failed,  Mr.  Bell  had  called  in,  as  a  last  resource,  the  new 
doctor.  His  efforts  to  control  the  disease  proved,  like  the 
rest,  useless. 

Mrs.  Bell  died,  or  was  supposed  to  have  died,  and  was 
buried.  The  }*oung  physician  was  determined,  if  possible, 
to  ascertain  the  cause  of  her  death,  and  for  this  purpose 
hired  a  notorious  grave-robber  to  obtain  the  body  for  him. 
The  man,  who  had  been  promised  quite  a  sum  of  mone}*  for 
his  work,  proceeded  at  once  to  accomplish  it.  Carefully  re- 
moving the  coffin  lid,  he  was  in  the  act  of  lifting  the  body 
when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  sparkling  diamond  upon  her  finger. 
Laying  the  body  back  in  the  coffin,  he  tried  to  force  the  ring 
off;  but,  failing  to  do  so,  he  had  recourse  to  the  knife,  as 
he  was  determined  to  obtain  his  prize. 

He  had  cut  the  finger  directly  below  the  ring,  and  was 
still  occupied  in  his  work,  when  he  noticed  a  slight  quiver 
run  through  the  body ;  the  next  moment  the  lips  moved,  the 
eyes  unclosed,  and  the  body  gave  every  sign  of  returning  life. 
Leaving  his  lantern  behind,  he  fled  terrified  from  the  spot. 
The  next  morning  he  left  the  city,  and  never  returned.  He 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Bell,  upon  his  death-bed,  relating  the  story  as 
above,  and  asking  her  forgiveness. 

The  doctor  who  hired  him  to  steal  the  body  left  the  country 
about  a  year  after  Mrs.  Bell's  escape.  Although  he  had 
never  been  suspected,  the  fear  of  it  always  troubled  him ; 
and,  to  escape  it  completely,  he  had  fled,  leaving  behind  him 
no  knowledge  of  his  whereabouts. 

During  Mrs.  Bell's  lifetime, — and  she  lived  to  see  grand- 


SAVED    FROM   THE   TOMB.  25 


children  playing  around  her  knee,  —  he  had  never  bwn  heard 
of;  and,  even  if  he  had  ventured  to  return,  Mrs.  uell  would 
have  nothing  to  offer  to  himself  and  his  accomplice  but  her 
heartfelt  thanks  for  her  timely  and  remarkable  deliverance 
from  the  tomb. 

t 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 


IT  was  the  month  of  August :  the  day  had  been  hot  and 
sultry ;  since  noon  the  atmosphere  had  become  almost  un- 
bearable ;  the  dead,  heavy  calm  that  weighed  upon  it  portended 
a  thunder-storm.  Low,  distant  growlings  were  already  heard ; 
and  many  who  preferred  to  wait  an  hour  or  more,  rather  than 
get  a  wetting,  had  taken  shelter  in  some  of  the  numerous 
hotels  of  the  city.  A  young  man  had  just  entered  St.  James 
Hotel,  at  the  west  end  of  London.  He  stood  for  a  while  at 
one  of  the  windows,  watching  the  large  drops  slowly  falling 
to  the  earth ;  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning,  followed  by  a  loud 
peal  of  thunder,  made  him  leave  his  position  ;  he  seated  him- 
self at  one  of  the  tables,  and,  taking  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  glanced  carelessly  over  its  columns.  His  attention 
was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  sound  of  voices  near  him ; 
turning  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he  saw  at  a  table,  a 
short  distance  from  where  he  sat,  two  men,  who,  like  himself, 
had  probably  taken  refuge  from  the  storm.  Their  backs 
were  turned  to  him ;  but  he  did  not  fail  to  recognize  the 
voices.  As  he  looked  at  them,  his  face  became  clouded,  and 
a  fierce,  angry  expression  flashed  into  his  eyes ;  he  drew  his 
lips  tightly  together,  and  muttered  beneath  his  breath,  keep- 
ing his  eyes  riveted  upon  them.  The  two  men  continued 
their  conversation  in  the  same  loud  tone. 

"So  I  will  receive  the  money  to-morrow,"  said  one. 

' '  Undoubtedly :  meet  me  here  at  this  hour,  and  I  shall 
put  it  into  3'our  hands,"  was  the  reply. 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE.  27 

The  first  speaker  here  rose,  shook  hands  with  his  com- 
panion, and  left  the  hotel. 

Silas  Porter  watched  him  with  keen,  angry  eyes  till  he  had 
closed  the  door  behind  him ;  then,  leaving  his  table,  crossed 
over  to  where  the  other  young  man  sat,  and  said,  "If  I  do 
not  make  a  mistake,  you  are  Mr.  Albert  Raymond." 

The  young  man  looked  up  quickly,  replying  ' '  That  is  my 
name  ;  but  you  really  have  the  advantage  of  me,  as  I  do  not 
remember  ever  having  seen  you  before." 

"  So  you  do  not  remember  Silas  Porter,  the  American  whom 
you  met  in  Paris  ?  " 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  the  young  man  was  on  his  feet 
in  an  instant,  and,  seizing  his  friend  by  the  hand,  shook  it 
heartily,  expressing  himself  as  fortunate  in  coming  into  the 
hotel  to  meet  his  old  friend. 

' '  You  must  be  my  guest  while  you  remain  in  England," 
said  Mr.  Raymond. 

His  friend  thanked  him,  but  declined  his  invitation,  saying 
that  he  was  in  England  on  business  connected  with  the  firm, 
and  so  could  not  partake  of  his  hospitality,  much  as  he  would 
like  to. 

"  How  you  have  changed,  Silas,  in  these  few  years  !  you 
look  tired  and  ill,"  said  Raymond. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer,  "  work,  trouble,  and  care  make  a 
fellow  look  old  and  tired ;  I  will  tell  you  the  cause  of  my 
careworn  appearance  to-night,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  and 
if  you  will  call  upon  me  at  number  6  L Street." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow  ;  "  and  Mr.  Raymond  took  a 
note-book  from  his  pocket,  marking  the  number  and  street  in 
it.  Silas  Porter,  having  business  to  attend  to,  left  his  friend, 
and  hurried  down  the  street. 

That  night  Mr.  Raymond  called  upon  his  friend,  as  he  had 
promised,  and  heard  from  his  lips  the  following  story  : — 

"Raymond,"  Silas  began,  "when  I  first  saw  you  to-day, 
you  were  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  man  whom  I  cau- 


28  THE    HEIR   OF    RAYMOND    LODGE. 

tion  you  to  beware  of.  He  is  an  idler,  forger,  and  deceiver, 
which  you  will  find  out  before  you  have  much  dealing 
with  him." 

"That  man,"  said  Raymond,  "  is  Sir  Frederick  Rockdale, 
a  fine  fellow,  and  my  dearest  friend ;  so  I  will  caution  you  to 
beware  of  how  you  speak  of  him  to  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Silas,  "  I  know  him,  and  can  speak  of  him 
only  with  loathing  and  contempt ;  he  is  the  vilest  man  that 
walks  the  earth  ;  let  me  tell  you  something  of  him,  which  will 
convince  you  that  I  at  least  have  reason  to  hate  him ;  at  the 
same  tune,  it  will  be  a  warning  for  you  to  keep  your  eye  upon 
him.  I  will  tell  you  now  what  has  happened  to  me  since  we 
saw  each  other  last." 

They  settled  themselves  at  each  side  of  the  table ;  one 
eagerly  listening,  while  the  other,  in  a  low  voice,  spoke  as 
follows : — 

"  When  I  met  you  in  Paris,  five  years  ago,  we  were  wealthy 
and  influential  Americans.  My  father's  business  was  at  its 
highest  standard.  I  was  then  on  a  business  errand  for  his 
firm.  That  was  the  first  time  I  was  introduced  to  your 
'  dearest  friend,'  whom  I  disliked  the  instant  I  saw  him.  My 
errand  completed,  I  returned  home,  and  did  not  see  him  for 
three  years  after.  My  sister  was  receiving  her  education  at 
a  French  convent ;  she  was  about  to  graduate ;  and  my 
mother,  wishing  to  be  present  at  the  graduating  exercises, 
urged  me  to  accompany  her  across  the  water.  We  went,  and 
remained  there  some  months  after  my  sister  had  graduated. 
We  one  day  had  the  misfortune  of  meeting  Sir  Frederick  on 
the  street ;  he  renewed  the  acquaintance  between  him  and 
myself,  much  to  my  dislike  ;  my  mother,  easily  impressed, 
asked  him  to  call  upon  us,  which  invitation  he  very  readily 
accepted ;  he  kept  his  word,  called  upon  us  frequently  during 
our  stay,  and  before  we  left  France  had  completely  won  my 
sister's  affections  and  my  mother's  admiration. 

' '  We  parted  from  him ;  and  I  hoped  that  the  change  of 


THE    HEIR    OF    RAYMOND    LODGE.  29 

occupation  and  the  distance  between  them  would  wean  my 
sister's  affection  from  him ;  but  he  had  imposed  too  much 
upon  her  simple,  loving  heart,  and  my  mother's  foolish  per- 
sistency to  have  a  title  in  the  family  baffled  all  my  efforts  to 
save  her  from  him.  They  corresponded  regularly ;  and,  at 
the  end  of  six  months,  he  came  to  America,  and  then  I  was 
forced  to  see  my  sister  becoming  more  infatuated  with  him 
every  day,  until  she  learned  what  she  had  been  cherishing, — 
a  vile,  unprincipled  spirit. 

"  They  were  engaged,  and  were  to  be  married  in  a  few 
months  ;  but  the  heavy  losses  of  father  suddenly  changed  the 
current  of  his  affections.  Owing  to  the  failure  of  the  bank- 
ing house  in  England  in  which  most  of  my  father's  money  was 
invested,  his  business  became  paralyzed,  so  that  he  was  un- 
able to  continue  it.  Of  course,  we  were  favored  no  more 
than  others  who  had  met  with  the  same  reverses  ;  and  from 
the  prosperous,  wealth}*  Americans  that  we  were,  we  became 
poor  working  people,  and  were  considered  no  better  than 
those  who  had  never  known  the  influence  of  riches.  Now  we 
found  who  were  our  real  friends  ;  and,  indeed,  they  were  very 
few. 

' '  Of  course  our  titled  friend  could  not  brook  a  marriage  now 
with  the  American  heiress.  He  wrote  to  my  sister,  asking  to 
be  released  from  the  engagement ;  he  was  released,  thank 
God !  and  my  sister  was  saved  from  becoming  the  wife  of  a 
titled  vagabond.  I  discovered  that,  before  our  downfall,  he 
had  forged  my  name  for  five  hundred  dollars.  My  poor 
sister  was  suffering  from  the  humiliation  he  had  brought  upon 
her  ;  and,  through  respect  for  her,  I  refrained  from  punishing 
the  rascal.  Her  name  would  be  connected  with  his  before 
the  public  ;  and,  to  spare  her  this  ignomin}*,  I  smothered  my 
wrath,  and  left  him  to  go  his  way.  It  was  happiness  enough 
to  know  that  she  was  freed  from  the  wretch,  who  never 
deserved  the  love  of  her  warm,  generous  heart.  I  compelled 
him,  however,  to  leave  America ;  and  threatened,  if  he  ever 


30  THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 

returned,  to  prosecute  him  upon  the  charge.  I  don't  think 
he  will  venture  to  return.  That  now  is  my  experience  of  Sir 
Frederick  Rochdale." 

,  Raymond  had  listened  attentively  throughout  his  friend's 
recital ;  and  asked  him  if  they  had  recovered,  even  in  part, 
their  former  prosperity. 

"  Yes,"  his  friend  replied:  "we  are  progressing  rapidly 
towards  it.  My  father,  whose  health  at  the  time  of  the 
failure  was  not  very  rugged,  did  not  long  survive  the  shock : 
he  died  a  few  months  after.  I  was  obliged  to  look  after  the 
wants  of  my  mother  and  sister ;  and,  to  do  this  properly,  I 
forgot  my  pride,  overcame  my  repugnance  to  work,  and  my 
efforts  have  been  crowned  with  success.  I  received  a  situa- 
tion as  book-keeper  in  a  large  wholesale  house,  and  have 
since  become  junior  partner.  My  sister  was  successful  in 
obtaining  a  position  as  teacher,  which  she  still  occupies. 
We  are  happy  and  contented,  and  have  no  desire  to  change 
our  condition  for  our  former  one  ;  we  have  found  that  adver- 
sity is  the  time  to  try  friendship,  and  our  friends  (that  is,  the 
most  of  them)  have  proved  false  and  hollow-hearted.  I 
advise  you  to  give  up  the  company  of  Sir  Frederick  before 
you  have  more  reason  for  giving  him  up.  He  has  nothing 
but  his  dishonesty  to  rely  upon ;  his  uncle  has  disinherited 
him,  and  since  then  he  has  lived  by  fraud." 

Albert  Raymond  yawned  lazily ;  and,  looking  at  his  com- 
panion, said  he  would  watch  him  closely  and  not  let  him  gain 
too  much  upon  him.  But  he  could  not  think  of  depriving 
himself  of  his  society  altogether :  he  was  a  jolly  fellow,  and 
just  suited  his  lazy,, indolent  life.  The  two  friends  sepa- 
rated, after  a  promise  on  Silas's  part  to  visit  him  at  an  early 
day. 

Albert  Raymond  was  a  young  man,  good-looking,  and 
of  a  cheerful  disposition  ;  his  character  was  weak  and  unde- 
cided ;  his  training  had  helped  to  increase  the  weakness ; 
and,  having  no  fixed  purpose  in  life  but  to  seek  pleasure, 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE.  31 

!t  was  easy  to  lead  him, — especially  easy  for  a  stronger  char- 
acter than  his  own  to  impose  upon  him.  All  that  he  could 
desire  was  at  his  command,  and  Sir  Frederick  marked  him  for 
his  prey.  He  had  the  greatest  contempt  for  Raymond's  weak- 
nesses ;  but  they  served  his  purpose,  and  so  he  flattered  and 
admired  them.  Raymond  thought  him  a  pleasant,  self-satis- 
fied fellow  ;  while  Rockdale  entertained  a  very  low  opinion  of 
the  wisdom  of  his  patron,  for  so  Raymond  had  often  proved. 
He  had  lent  Sir  Frederick  large  sums  of  money,  without 
requiring  the  least  security  from  him,  which  Sir  Frederick 
had  never  returned. 

' '  A  consummate  fool "  was  the  general  appellation  Rock- 
dale  applied  to  his  young  friend,  after  receiving  the  desired 
sums  of  money.  They  had  become  acquainted  about  a  year 
before,  when  Rockdale  had  so  impressed  Raymond  that  they 
had  become  fast  friends,  and  the  bond  of  union  seemed 
to  be  strengthened  with  time. 

About  a  week  after,  Silas  Porter  called  upon  his  friend. 
He  found  him  in  a  rather  nervous,  excited  mood,  caused  by  a 
visit  from  Lawyer  Derby,  who  told  him  a  story  about  his 
early  life  which  he  did  not  know  whether  to  believe  or  not. 
After  Silas  had  seated  himself  and  they  were  both  puffing 
volumes  of  smoke  from  their  cigars,  Raymond  said, — 

"  My  lawyer  called  upon  me  to-day,  and,  strange  to  say, 
found  me  at  home  ;  he  has  been  coming  here  for  the  last  week 
without  finding  me.  He  came  to  tell  me  that  I  am  not 
the  son  of  my  father's  last  wife,  but  the  son  of  a  former  one, 
Florence  Kirk ;  he  informs  me  that  my  father  married 
Florence  Kirk  in  Ireland ;  two  years  after  their  marriage  his 
wife  died,  leaving  him  an  infant  sou.  After  the  death  of  his 
wife  he  travelled  for  a  year  or  more  ;  and  then  returning  to 
England,  his  native  place,  he  married  his  second  wife,  Miss 
Mentstone.  The  child  by  his  first  wife  inherited  all  his  grand- 
father's property,  on  condition  that  he  would  retain  his  moth- 
er's family  name,  Kirk.  His  grandfather  died  soon  after  his 


32  THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 

daughter  Florence,  when  the  child's  father  claimed  his  son, 
and  brought  him  home  with  him.  The  boj7,  then  three  years 
old,  knew  no  other  mother  than  his  father's  second  wife,  who 
never  corrected  the  impression ;  she  was  left  a  widow  soon 
after  her  marriage,  and  upon  her  own  death  intrusted  this 
story  to  her  lawyer,  to  disclose  it  when  he  thought  proper. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  now  referring  to  himself,  "I  was 
away  during  my  mother's  last  illness,  and  she  felt  very 
anxious,  so  Lawyer  Derby  said,  that  I  should  know  the 
truth.  She  was  a  real  mother  to  me,  and  I  am  not  sorry  that 
she  deceived  me  in  regard  to  my  own  mother.  But  don't 
you  think  it  a  singular  story ;  and  how  am  I  to  know 
whether  the  lawyer  is  telling  me  the  truth  or  not  ?  " 

"  It  is  singular,"  his  friend  replied ;  "  but  the  truth  can 
easily  be  found  out  by  going  to  your  mother's  birthplace. 
You  have  a  capital  way  now  to  try  your  friends,  by  a  little 
misrepresentation." 

"  How?  "  asked  his  companion,  eagerly. 

"  You  are  supposed  to  be  the  son  of  the  late  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond. Represent  to  the  public,  in  some  manner,  that  the 
son  of  your  father's  first  wife  has  turned  up,  and  that  3rou 
are  therefore  deprived  of  your  property ;  that  you  will  be 
obliged  to  depend  in  future  upon  j-our  brother's  bounty  ;  and 
your  friends,  knowing  that  you  can  no  longer  entertain  them 
as  you  have  done,  will  soon  desert  you.  If  you  will  follow 
my  instructions,  you  will  find  who  are  your  real  friends." 

"It  is  a  bright  idea,"  Ra\'mond  replied.  "  Let  us  go  to 
my  lawyer  to-morrow,  and  ask  his  help.  I  would  just  like 
to  test  Sir  Frederick  Rockdale,  who  pretends  to  think  so 
highly  of  me." 

The  next  day  they  visited  Lawyer  Derby,  and  unfolded 
their  plans.  He  agreed  to  help  them  to  spread  the  news, 
and  suggested  that  a  short  paragraph  be  sent  to  several 
of  the  daily  papers  that  by  this  means  the  story  might  gain 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE.  33 

credence.    Accordingly  they  wrote  the  following,  and  posted 
it  that  evening  :  — 

"A  story  that,  if  true,  will  prove  rather  unfortunate  to 
the  young  heir  of  Raymond  Lodge  has  recently  come  to 
light.  It  appears  that  Mr.  Raymond,  the  young  man's  late- 
lamented  father,  had  been  married  twice,  and  a  son  was  born 
of  each  marriage,  the  present  heir  being  the  son  of  his  last 
wife.  The  son  of  his  former  marriage  has  lived  principally 
a  broad,  but  is  now  returning  home  to  establish  his  right  to 
the  property ;  it  is  alleged  that  he  has  in  his  possession 
documents  that  defy  all  dispute,  and  that  he  can  prove  his 
identity  beyond  a  doubt.  If  the  above  is  correct,  the  future 
prospects  of  the  young,  dashing  Albert  Kirk  Raymond  are 
gloomy  in  the  extreme." 

This  appeared  in  the  evening  papers,  and  was  copied 
extensively  from  paper  to  paper.  All  Raymond's  friends 
were  furnished  with  a  subject  for  gossip,  and  they  made 
good  use  of  it  while  the  surprise  which  it  occasioned  lasted. 
He  was  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  among  his  particular 
associates  ;  and  his  reasons  for  having  kept  the  fact,  that  he 
had  a  brother  living,  a  secret  from  his  most  intimate  friends, 
were  discussed  over  and  over. 

Raymond  had  been  very  quiet,  and  had  remained  away 
from  his  usual  haunts  during  the  few  weeks  that  intervened 
bejtween  the  appearance  of  the  first  article  and  the  following, 
which  appeared  in  the  same  papers  :  — 

"  The  rumor  concerning  Mr.  Albert  Raymond  has  been 
confirmed.  His  brother  arrived  home  last  Thursday ;  it  is 
understood  that,  for  the  present,  3'oung  Raymond  will  remain 
at  the  Lodge.  At  the  end  of  November,  it  is  supposed,  he 
will  visit  Wales,  where  his  mother's  relatives  live.  He  has 
a  cousin  there,  who  has  a  large  interest  in  a  brewery ;  and 
young  Ra3rmond  will  probably  purchase  some  shares  in  it, 
and  thus  open  for  himself  a  path  to  prosperity.  The  reverses 
of  fortune  render  the  young  man,  who  was  looked  upon  as  a 
brainless  spendthrift,  spirited,  energetic,  and  determined.  He 


84  THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 

positively  refuses  to  live  upon  his  brother's  proffered  hospi- 
tality longer  than  he  can  possibly  help.  We  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  downfall ;  and  sincerely  hope  that,  by  his  own  in- 
dustry and  perseverance,  he  will  establish  his  reputation  in 
the  new  field  of  action  to  wuich  he  is  about  to  direct  his 
energies." 

Sir  Frederick  Rockdale  was  utterly  cast  down,  upon  read- 
ing the  above  :  all  his  plans  had  failed  ;  he  had  nothing  more 
to  expect  from  his  generous  friend,  who  had,  by  a  sudden 
stroke  of  fortune,  become  as  poor  as  himself;  so  he  resolved 
to  keep  out  of  Raymond's  way,  that  he  might  not  be  com- 
pelled to  refuse  the  payment  of  his  debt. 

""Well,"  he  thought,  "how  very  fortunate  for  me  that 
there  is  no  note  or  bill  of  any  kind  to  prove  that  I  owe  him 
the  money !  I  am  safe,  and  need  have  no  fear  of  him  ;  how- 
ever, I  will  not  harass  him  with  my  company  during  this  dis- 
tressing tune."  He  smiled  sardonically  at  his  own  thoughts, 
and  continued  his  reading. 

Albert  Raymond  and  Silas  Porter  were  seated  in  the  tat- 
ter's room.  They  had  been  discussing  the  success  of  their 
plot,  and  Raymond  was  talking  of  his  intended  trip  to  Wales. 
His  mother's  people  used  to  receive  him  cordially  when  he 
was  known  to  be  the  possessor  of  a  princely  fortune ;  he 
would  try  them  now,  as  he  had  his  other  friends,  and  prove 
to  himself  if  all  he  loved  were  actuated  with  the  same  sordid 
motives. 

"I  will  start  to-morrow,"  he  was  saying,  "  and  will  be 
away  long  enough  to  sound  their  feelings.  They  used  to 
treat  me  with  the  greatest  honor,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow, 
very  rich,  and  able  to  show  my  appreciation  of  their  kind- 
ness. Now  I  am  poor,  and  can  offer  them  nothing,  save  my 
gratitude,  for  whatever  favors  they  may  confer  upon  me  ; 
and,  indeed,  I  am  very  much  inclined  to  think  that  my  grati- 
tude will  not  be  much  taxed." 

"  Well,"  said  Silas,  "you  will  find  out  your  true  friends, — 


THE    HEIR    OF   RAYMOND    LODGE.  85 

those  who  will  not  change  with  the  change  of  your  prospects  ; 
and  I  am  sure  they  are  few  who  are  not  more  or  less  in- 
fluenced by  the  circumstances  of  their  friends." 

The  following  evening  Raymond  left  England ;  he  had  not 
received  a  single  word  of  sympathy  from  one  of  his  former 
friends ;  he  had  not  seen  Sir  Frederick ;  and,  when  he  had 
called  upon  him  a  few  days  ago,  he  was  told  that  Sir  Fred- 
erick had  a  severe  headache,  and  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed. 
He  had  satisfied  himself  in  regard  to  Sir  Frederick's  manly 
principles,  and  was  secretly  glad  that  he  had  found  him  out 
so  easily. 

There  was  one  person  whose  change  towards  him  had 
deeply  wounded  him  ;  the  one  whom,  of  all  the  world,  he 
loved  the  best,  and  in  whose  love  and  affection  he  had 
hoped  and  trusted.  It  had  been  nothing  but  a  wild  freak 
of  his  to  comply  with  Porter's  suggestion ;  for  he  really  be- 
lieved, either  in  his  simplicity  or  want  of  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  that  the  whole  plot  would  only  bind  his 
friends  closer  to  him ;  but  he  did  not  think  that  what  he 
had  undertaken  to  do  as  a  good  joke  would  so  try  his 
spirit  and  wound  his  affections. 

He  had  gone  early  in  the  morning  to  tell  Miss  Caroline 
Hastings  of  his  intended  visit  to  Wales.  Although  they  had 
been  engaged  for  over  six  months,  and  were  to  be  married 
within  a  year,  she  received  him  coldly,  was  very  reticent  in 
her  conversation,  and  extremely  short  in  her  answers.  He 
knew  at  once  that  she,  too,  had  risen  against  him,  and  the 
truth  of  it  only  made  it  harder  to  bear ;  he  had  never  ex- 
pected a  repulsion  from  her,  who  loved  him,  he  thought,  for 
what  he  was,  not  for  what  he  had.  The  blow  was  a  severe 
one,  and  he  was  afraid  that  he  would  never  recover  from  it. 
Their  interview  had  ended  with  anger  and  scorn  on  her  side  ; 
disappointment  and  regret  on  his ;  their  engagement  was 
broken  off,  and  he  left  her,  hopeless  and  sorrowful,  almost 
cursing  her  for  her  falseness. 


36  THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE. 

He  was  thinking,  or  rather  brooding,  upon  all  this  as  the 
train  whirled  him  from  England ;  he  was  beginning  to  dread 
the  effect  of  the  lesson  he  was  learning ;  he  feared  it  would 
make  him  distrustful  of  everybody,  good  and  bad  alike.  He 
was  fast  losing  all  the  faith  he  had  in  woman's  love  and 
gentleness ;  it  was  a  farce,  and  he  was  sorry  that  he  ever 
believed  in  it.  However,  he  would  follow  out  his  intention, 
and  there  let  his  deception  end.  His  experience  of  human 
nature  had  been  dearly  purchased  by  the  loss  of  his  own 
truth,  and  trustfulness  of  his  friends,  and — what  was  worse 
than  all  —  of  his  love. 

He  had  somewhat  recovered  his  spirits  when  he  arrived  in 
Wales.  Looking  ver}r  demure  and  steady,  like  one  who  had 
been  tried  severely,  he  proceeded  to  his  relatives'  house. 
The  news  of  his  misfortune  had  preceded  him ;  and,  as  he 
expected,  his  reception  was  not  as  cordial  as  it  was  wont  to 
be.  The  family  consisted  of  Mr.  Walbridge,  his  wife,  and 
two  daughters,  who  were  always  especially  glad  to  see  him, 
but  whose  interest  in  him  was  now  transferred  to  his  brother, 
about  whom  they  inquired  particularly,  and  asked  quite  a 
number  of  questions  in  regard  to  his  right  to  the  property. 
There  was  neither  feeling  nor  delicacy  in  their  talk  ;  and  poor 
Raymond,  disgusted  more  and  more  with  himself,  left  them 
after  a  week's  visit.  Before  he  started,  he  told  them  that  he 
was  still  the  heir  of  Raymond  Lodge,  that  his  brother  existed 
only  in  the  imagination  of  his  friends,  and  that  the  fraud  he  hud 
practised  upon  them  had  assured  him  that  his  wealth  and 
position  were  the  only  qualifications  necessary  to  secure  their 
respect  and  esteem.  He  never  saw  nor  heard  from  them 
afterward. 

He  returned  home,  and  remained  in  England  long  enough 
to  prove  that  the  rumor  concerning  his  fortune  was  false,  and 
that  he  himself  was  the  son  by  his  father's  first  marriage ; 
relating  the  circumstances  of  his  birth,  which  cleared  all 
doubts. 


THE  HEIR  OF  RAYMOND  LODGE.  87 

When  Silas  Porter  returned  to  America,  he  was  accom- 
panied by  Albert  Raymond,  who  had  left  his  estates  under  the 
management  of  Lawyer  Derby.  About  two  years  after,  he 
was  married  to  Lilian  Porter.  He  took  his  bride  to  England, 
where  they  lived  happily  and  peacefully  together,  in  spite  of 
the  sorrows  and  troubles  each  had  known. 

Caroline  Hastings  has  not  yet  found  a  partner,  and  it  has 
often  been  whispered  around  that  she  regrets  the  hasty  words 
that  deprived  her  of  a  wealthy  husband. 

Sir  Frederick  Rockdale  continued  his  evil  course  until  he 
met  with  one  as  wicked  as  himself,  who  would  bear  no  trifling 
with :  he  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with  a  companion,  and  was 
shot  through  the  lung  ;  he  never  recovered  from  the  wound, 
and  died  of  consumption  a  few  years  after. 

Silas  Porter  is  also  married,  and  with  his  charming  little 
wife  visits  England  occasionally.  He  is  senior  partner  in  the 
firm  in  which  he  held  the  position  of  book-keeper ;  his  won- 
derful business  abilities  have  brought  him  wealth  and  pros- 
perity ;  while  his  honest,  upright  principles  command  the 
respect  and  esteem  of  his  countrymen. 

So  now  we  will  leave  our  friends  in  England  and  America 
enjoying  their  good  fortune,  hoping  it  will  long  continue. 


38  CLARA.  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


CLARA  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


IT  was  evening, — one  of  those  soft,  golden  evenings  that 
corne  at  the  close  of  autumn.  Upon  the  veranda  of  a  fash- 
ionable hotel  sat  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  apparently 
enjoying  the  beauty  around.  The  elder  ones,  engaged  in 
quiet  conversation,  sat  at  some  distance  from  the  younger 
portion  of  the  group ;  who,  intent  upon  their  own  pleasure, 
chatted,  laughed,  and  flirted,  to  the  utter  forgetfulness  of 
paternal  eyes  and  ears. 

Foremost  amongst  these  is  Clara  Kingsley,  elder  daughter 
of  the  renowned  Judge  Kingsley,  a  young  lady  of  twenty- 
two  years,  who  flattered  herself  highly  upon  being  the  reign- 
ing belle.  Tall,  dark,  and  handsome,  Clara  Kingsley  was 
sure  to  surpass  all  competitors. 

She  is  at  present  endeavoring,  by  every  art  in  her  power, 
to  engage  the  attention  of  young  Mr.  "Walton,  who  stands 
listlessly  beside  her,  anxious  to  leave  without  seeming  rude. 
Clara  watches  him  keenly,  however,  and,  when  she  notices 
any  change  in  his  position,  strives  by  some  new  art  to  detain 
him.  One  can  see  at  a  glance  that  her  attractions  have 
little  or  no  power  over  him  :  he  listens  to  her  with  an  air  of 
disregard  for  her  remarks ;  seldom  looking  at  her,  and  an- 
swering in  a  few  short  words. 

Clara  sees,  with  secret  anger  and  mortification,  the  con- 
tempt in  which  he  holds  her ;  but  seems  determined,  not- 
withstanding her  own  chagrin,  to  try  his  patience  still  further : 
for  she  has  begun  a  new  subject,  and  compels  him,  in  spite 
of  his  aversion,  to  linger  near  her. 


CLARA  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT.  39 

Ned  Walton,  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  was  about  twenty- 
five  j'ears  old,  wealth}-  and  handsome.  His  wit  and  brilliant 
conversation  made  him  a  universal  favorite.  As  soon  as  he 
had  made  his  appearance  in  our  little  circle  of  pleasure-seek- 
ers, he  was  looked  upon  and  talked  of  as  one  who  would 
surety  be  added  to  the  long  list  of  Miss  Kingsley's  admirers. 
Yet,  strange  to  say,  he  was  never  for  one  moment  ' '  mag- 
netized," as  it  had  been  foretold  he  would  be,  by  the  brilliancy 
of  her  eyes.  He  never  felt  the  thrill  that  others  had  ex- 
perienced at  the  sound  of  her  matchless  voice ;  in  fact,  all 
her  natural  endowments,  together  with  the  many  little  arts 
she  could  so  well  assume,  failed  to  excite  in  the  breast  of  Ned 
Walton  one  single  throb  of  admiration  for  her. 

Clara  Kingsley  knew  that  for  once  she  had  failed ;  she 
could  not  account  for  it.  She  even  felt  that  she  had  more 
than  failed :  she  had  made  herself  odious  to  at  least  one  man. 
This  was  the  state  of  affairs ;  and  upon  this  evening  Clara 
Kingsley,  not  having  profited  by  past  experiences,  was  still 
trying  to  win  the  affections  of  him  upon  whom  she  had  set 
her  heart,  though  she  knew  that  every  trial  was  a  fresh  failure. 
She  had  almost  exhausted  her  resources,  and  had  never  been 
so  severely  vexed.  He  had  listened  to  her  conversation 
with  so  negligent  an  air  that  all  around  could  easily  guess  in 
what  esteem  he  held  her.  When,  at  last,  he  had  freed  him- 
self from  her,  he  sauntered  leisurely  along,  leaving  her  to 
her  own  reflections. 

The  Kingsley s  had  been  at  the  seashore  about  five  months. 
During  that  time  Clara  had  enjoyed  herself  well, — as  well  as 
any  young  lady  could  with  a  score  of  beaus  living  upon  her 
smiles,  ready  to  do  the  most  extraordinary  and  unnatural 
things  to  testify  their  love  for  her,  and  willing  to  bear  any 
trial,  any  mortification,  rather  than  be  deprived  of  the  favor 
of  the  beautiful  belle.  But  now  she  was  beginning  to  feel 
dissatisfied  with  herself;  her  charms  were  not  so  powerful, 
after  all ;  she  could  not  conquer  where  she  would  have  given 


40  CLARA    KINU*LEi'd    DISAPPOINTMENT. 

worlds  to  conquer ;  she  was  losing  confidence  in  herself,— 
what  she  had  never  lost  before. 

Miss  Kingsley  was  reclining  indolently  upon  her  couch  one 
morning,  reading  the  latest  novel.  While  she  was  thus 
engaged,  a  young  girl  entered  the  room,  and,  seating  herself 
at  the  window,  began  to  knit  industriously.  Miss  Kingsley, 
with  an  air  of  impatience,  threw  down  the  book  she  held  in 
her  hand,  exclaiming,  "Alice  Kingsley,  when  are  you  going 
to  help  Katie  on  my  dress  ?  Miss  Bailey's  reception  will  be 
given  in  three  days,  and  my  dress  is  not  yet  finished, — you 
are  everlastingly  knitting,  wasting  your  tune  on  some  worth- 
less beggar." 

"  Your  dress  will  be  ready,  Clara.  I  want  to  finish  these 
stockings  to-day  ;  then  I  will  help  Katie." 

Alice  Kingsley  was  a  contrast  to  her  sister,  in  disposition 
as  well  as  appearance.  She  could  not  boast  of  beauty  ;  but 
the  quiet  thoughtfulness  of  her  nature  showed  itself  in  her 
calm,  deep  blue  eyes.  Alice  Kingsley  was  the  friend  of  the 
poor ;  she  never  grew  weary  of  working  for  them,  and  she 
was  loved  and  blessed  wherever  she  went.  Her  assistance 
was  not  needed  upon  her  sister's  dress ;  but  both  Clara  and 
her  mother  were  forced  to  consult  her  upon  their  toilet. 
Alice  had  excellent  taste  and  judgment,  and  so  was  often 
obliged  to  forget  her  own  inclinations  and  yield  to  her  sister's 
authority. 

"  While  they  were  talking,  a  servant  brought  a  letter  to 
Clara.  Her  first  exclamation  upon  reading  it  was, — 

"  What  audacity  that  fellow  has  to  send  me  such  a  letter ! 
It  is  from  that  John  Howard,"  she  continued,  handing  it  to 
her  sister. 

Alice  read  it  with  eager  eyes. 

"Poor  John!"  she  said,  "after  so  many  years  we  have 
heard  from  him  at  last ;  I  am  so  glad  he  is  going  to  call 
upon  us." 

"  What  an  ornament  he  will  be  to  our  circle,  with  his  red 


CLAKA    KINGSLEY' S    DISAPPOINTMENT.  41 

hair  and  freckled  face  !  "  Clara  retorted.  "  He  is  coming  the 
very  night  of  the  ball,  too  ;  and  I  suppose  will  be  here  when 
Mr.  Farlow  calls,"  she  continued,  in  a  disdainful,  angry 
voice. 

"  Well,"  Alice  replied,  "his  coming  need  not  interrupt 
your  plans  for  the  evening.  I  will  remain  at  home  to  receive 
John.  "We  have  not  seen  him  for  years  ;  and  it  is  right  that 
we  should  be  friendly  to  him  upon  his  return  home." 

John  Howard's  parents  died  when  he  was  twelve  years 
old,  leaving  him  almost  a  penniless  orphan.  His  mother, 
being  a  distant  relative  of  Judge  Kingsley,  left  him  under 
his  charge.  John  was  large,  and  somewhat  awkward  in  his 
manners.  Clara  disliked  him  without  the  slightest  cause, 
and  often  got  him  into  trouble  ;  for,  like  ah1  boys,  he  was  full 
of  mischief.  Little  Alice  was  his  only  playmate :  she  often 
saved  him  from  punishment,  and  obtained  numberless  favors 
for  him. 

John  had  an  uncle  in  California,  who,  learning  that  Mr. 
Howard,  through  a  mismanagement  of  business,  had  become 
reduced  in  circumstances,  sent  for  his  nephew.  Upon  receiv- 
ing the  invitation,  John  had  immediately  departed  for  his 
new  home,  since  which  time  nothing  had  been  heard  of 
him. 

Judge  Kingsley  had  gone  to  the  city  on  business  ;  Clara 
and  her  mother  were  preparing  for  the  ball ;  so  Alice  was  the 
only  one  present  to  receive  the  visitor.  Both  Alice  and  John 
were  delighted  to  see  each  other.  They  had  many  things  to 
talk  about, — old  times  and  new  plans ;  the  evening  was 
slipping  away  quickly,  yet  Alice  had  made  no  apology  for  her 
mother's  and  sister's  absence.  At  last,  fearing  that  he  might 
ask  for  them,  she  excused  then-  conduct  by  sa}7ing  that  it  was 
positively  unavoidable, — that  to  disappoint  Miss  Bailey  would 
be  to  offend  her.  He  made  no  pretence  of  being  sorry  at 
their  absence,  merely  remarking  that  perhaps  he  would  have 


42  CLARA  KINGSLEY'S 

the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  at  his  next  call.  At  half-past 
ten  he  arose  to  go,  promising  to  return  in  a  few  da}-s. 

Alice  sat  musing  for  some  time  after  ho  had  gone.  How 
the  John  Howard  of  her  childhood  had  changed !  The  ugly 
red  hair  had  darkened  into  beautiful  auburn,  the  face  as 
smooth  and  clear  as  a  woman's,  and  the  deep  brown  e}-es  had 
the  strength  and  tenderness  of  true  manhood. 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  that  night  when  Mr.  Farlow 
made  his  appearance  in  Miss  Bailey's  drawing-room ;  more 
than  one  young  lady  had  grown  impatient  at  his  absence. 
Clara  Kingsley  being  his  favorite,  however,  he  engaged  her 
for  his  first  dance.  When  it  was  over,  Miss  Kingsley  feigned 
a  slight  headache  ;  Mr.  Farlow  led  her  to  the  conservatory. 

"  I  understood  your  sister  was  to  favor  us  with  her  com- 
panj7  this  evening,"  he  said,  when  she  had  seated  herself. 

"  We  all  thought  she  would,  too,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but 
Alice  has  singular  notions,  and  is  too  obstinate  to  give  them 
up  at  the  good  advice  of  another.  She  has  remained  at 
home  to-night  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  an  old  friend 
of  hers  ;  he  has  been  away  for  years,  and,  though  it  was  to 
me  he  sent  word  that  he  was  going  to  call,  I  did  not 
think  enough  of  him  to  absent  myself  from  the  ball  on  his 
account." 

Mr.  Farlow  let  his  beautiful  eyes  rest  upon  her  for  a  few 
moments,  while  a  strange  smile  played  around  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  Clara  noticed  it ;  but  vanity  prompted  her  to 
believe  that  his  looks  were  those  of  admiration. 

Ned  Walton  was  also  at  the  ball,  as  gay  and  fascinating  as 
ever.  Clara  had  endeavored  to  render  herself  as  charming 
as  possible,  and  tried  earnestly  enough  to  attract  his  notice. 
She  accepted  Mr.  Far-low's  attentions;  but  would  have 
preferred  the  slightest  recognition  from  Ned  Walton.  Her 
efforts,  as  usual,  were  in  vain :  he  was  lavish  in  his  attentions 
to  her  rival,  Miss  Lawson. 


CLARA  KINOSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT.  43 

Clara  was  losing  the  enjoyment  of  the  evening.  She  was 
jealous.  She  felt  the  truth  at  last :  she  could  never  hope  to 
will  Ned  Walton's  heart. 

She  resolved  afterwards,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  disap- 
pointment, to  be  satisfied  with  John  Farlow.  He  was  rich, 
handsome,  and  agreeable,  and  she  would  accept  him  the 
moment  he  proposed.  She  did  not  care  for  the  man  she  was 
so  sure  of  marrying ;  but,  to  her  selfish,  ambitious  nature,  he 
was  the  only  one  among  her  admirers  able  to  support  her 
extravagant  and  ostentatious  st}Tle  of  living.  From  that 
time  a  marvellous  change  was  noticed  in  her  conduct  towards 
Mr.  Farlow.  She  affected  to  be  his  most  attentive  listener, 
smiled  affectionately  upon  him,  and  was  most  interested 
in  all  his  undertakings. 

John  Howard  called  again  upon  Alice,  but  did  not  see  her 
sister ;  he  even  visited  their  city  home,  whither  they  had  gone 
at  the  coming  of  winter,  without  meeting  her.  At  length, 
one  day,  as  Alice  for  the  twentieth  time  was  remarking  the 
wonderful  change  time  had  worked  in  the  appearance  of  their 
old  friend,  the  latter  determined  she  would  see  him  the  next 
time  he  called. 

Accordingly,  upon  being  informed  of  his  coming  during 
the  ensuing  week,  she  dressed  herself  with  scrupulous  care, 
and  haughtily  descended  to  the  parlor,  to  meet,  as  she 
supposed,  one  who  would  be  immediately  captivated  by  her 
charms.  Entering  the  room,  to  her  astonishment  she  beheld 
Alice  eagerly  conversing,  not  with  John  Howard,  but  with 
Mr.  Farlow. 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
then,  as  if  a  new  idea  had  suddenly  struck  her,  she  advanced 
with  extended  hand,  greeting  and  welcoming  him  most  cor- 
dially. She  was  both  surprised  and  delighted,  as  she  repeat- 
edly told  him,  to  find  that  her  old  friend  John  Howard  should 
also  prove  to  be  her  new  friend  Mr.  Farlow.  She  asked  him 


44  CLARA  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

a  multitude  of  questions,  and  talked  incessantly  of  his  travels 
and  successes. 

Alice  was  completely  cast  aside  ;  her  sister  Clara  was  kind 
enough  to  relieve  her  of  the  necessity  of  entertaining  John 
further.  When  he  had  ended  his  visit,  Clara  pressed  him  to 
call  again  at  an  early  day,  saying  that  they  must  renew  their 
old  friendship.  She  discovered,  however,  after  he  had 
repeated  his  visits  a  few  times,  that  they  were  intended 
more  for  Alice  than  for  herself.  For  a  time  this  discovery 
only  served  to  make  her  more  gracious  and  condescending 
towards  him ;  but,  seeing  that  John  remained  perfectly 
indifferent  to  her,  she  became  enraged  against  her  sister,  and, 
full  of  envy  and  jealousy,  accused  her  of  being  a  base 
intriguer. 

John  Howard  had  become  sole  heir  to  his  uncle's  property 
upon  the  latter's  death.  John  had  always  been  known  as 
his  uncle's  adopted  son  ;  and  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Califor- 
nia assumed  his  uncle's  name,  Farlow.  He  had  never 
thought  of  giving  any  other ;  and,  observing  that  Clara  did 
not  recognize  him  when  introduced,  he  decided  to  let  his 
identity  remain  a  secret.  He  had  been  in  Clara's  company  a 
great  deal,  and  had  many  opportunities  of  observing  her :  she 
was  the  same  Clara  he  had  known  as  a  child ;  the  same 
severe,  handsome  face,  with  its  cold,  haughty  eyes  and 
scornful,  bitter  mouth ;  he  did  not  like  her,  and  past  memo- 
ries did  not  modif}'  his  aversion. 

John  had  never  met  Alice  in  society ;  and,  longing  to 
behold  once  more  the  sweet  girlish  face  and  tender  blue 
eyes  which  all  his  dreams  had  pictured,  he  had  recourse  to  a 
little  subterfuge,  by  which  he  might  prove  their  sincerity : 
he  wrote,  telling  them  that,  in  virtue  of  their  old  friendship, 
he  would  take  the  liberty  of  calling  upon  them.  We  have 
seen  the  result. 

Alice  and  John  Howard  were  married ;  and  Clara,  foiled  in 


CLARA  KINGSLEY'S  DISAPPOINTMENT.  46 

all  her  efforts  to  ingratiate  herself  into  the  favor  of  Mr.  "Wal- 
ton, of  whose  marriage  with  her  rival  she  subsequently  heard, 
dwells  with  her  mother  in  the  stately  mansion  of  the  late 
Judge  Kingsley.  She  has  not  forgiven  Alice,  and  continues 
to  look  upon  her  as  a  contemptible  little  schemer,  whose 
prize  is  a  stolen  one.  Alice,  however,  in  spite  of  her  sister's 
opinion,  is  living  happily  in  the  peace  and  contentment  of  a 
loving  heart. 


DB.  PHILLY'S  VISITOB. 


DR.  PHILLTS  VISITOR. 


IT  was  a  dull,  heavy  evening ;  the  air  was  oppressive,  the 
sky  threatening,  and  the  streets  dirty  and  muddy  from  the 
day's  travelling.  Dr.  Philly,  a  distinguished  physician  in 
the  west  end  of  London,  had  had  a  very  bus}'  day.  Ho  had  just 
returned  from  what  he  hoped  would  be  his  last  call  for  the 
night,  and  was  comfortably  seated  in  his  well-furnished  office, 
enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  cigar,  and  indulging,  as  was  his 
wont,  in  the  various  reflections  which  the  incidents  of  the  day 
produced. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  a  page  entered,  bearing  a 
card  upon  which  was  written  the  name  of  Lady  Sampson 
Sprague.  Now,  the  doctor  had  never  seen  Lady  Sprague, 
though  well  acquainted  with  her  husband  :  but  he  had  heard 
of  her  to  such  an  extent  as  to  be  exceedingly  anxious  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  her ;  therefore  he  told  the 
page  to  admit  her  immediately. 

The  page,  complying  with  his  master's  orders,  opened  the 
door  soon  after,  and  a  beautiful  woman,  richly  attired, 
presented  herself  before  the  doctor,  who  instantly  rose  to 
receive  her.  He  placed  a  chair  for  her  directly  in  front 
of  himself,  that  he  might  satisfy  his  curiosity  in  regard  to  her 
beaut}*,  which  had  been  admitted  generally  to  be  of  the 
highest  t}*pe.  The  doctor  improved  his  opportunity  well ; 
for  he  gazed  on  his  visitor  long  and  earnestly,  and,  seem- 
ingly unconscious,  agreed  within  himself  that  she  was  indeed 
a  royal  beauty.  His  idea  formed  at  that  time  of  her  beauty 


PR.  PHILLY'S  VISITOR.  47 

was  of  a  tall,  dignified  woman,  with  a  royal  bearing,  grace- 
fill  carriage,  and  firm,  impressive  voice ;  nothing  soft  or 
sweet  about  it,  and  yet  a  magic  in  it  which  was  indicative  of 
a  commanding  self-control,  united  to  a  wonderful  power 
of  emphasis  that  asserted  itself  in  every  word  she  uttered. 

Her  features  were  strong  and  regular.  Radiant  black 
eyes,  shaded  by  long,  heavy  lashes,  danced  and  sparkled 
beneath  a  pair  of  narrow,  delicately  arched  brows,  which  she 
knitted  often  into  a  frown,  or  elevated  in  surprise,  during 
their  conversation  ;  her  mouth  and  chin,  like  her  voice,  were 
firm  and  determined,  and  showed  plainly  that  energy  and 
decision  were  predominant  characteristics  of  their  possessor ; 
the  nose  was  straight  and  handsome,  and,  like  all  the 
features,  bore  the  stamp  of  an  extraordinary  strength  of  char- 
acter ;  the  black,  gloss}*  hair  was  coiled  loosely  around  her 
magnificent  head ;  her  forehead  was  the  index  to  the  wonder- 
ful talents  and  powerful  mind  which  Lady  Sprague  was 
known  to  possess. 

After  inquiries  concerning  Sir  Sampson's  health,  the  an- 
swers to  which  fully  satisfied  the  doctor  that  his  attendance 
in  that  direction  was  not  needed,  Lad}'  Sprague  made  known 
the  object  of  her  visit.  She  began  by  saying, — 

"Dr.  Philly,  I  have  not  until  now  had  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  yon  personally ;  I  have  often  heard  Sir  Sampson 
speak  of  3*ou  as  an  old  college  chum,  and  as  standing  very 
high  in  your  profession." 

The  doctor  bowed  very  gravely,  not  a  little  flattered  by  Sir 
Sampson's  opinion. 

"  I  have  called  upon  3*011,"  she  proceeded,  "  by  his  advice. 
Perhaps  3*011  have  heard  of  a  3*oung  nephew  of  ours,  to  whom 
Sir  Sampson  has  become  guardian  ?  " 

Upon  the  doctor's  replying  that  he  had  heard  of  him,  her 
Iad3*ship  said, — 

"  Well,  Dr.  PhiUy,  it  is  concerning  this  nephew  that  I  have 
come  to  see  you.  He  is  very  eccentric ;  and  the  customs  and 


48  DR.  PHILLY'S  VISITOR. 

climate  of  India,  where  he  has  been  since  a  child,  have  noi 
helped  his  character  any ;  his  is  a  very  weak  one,  and  the 
thought  of  pain  or  suffering  is  more  than  he  can  bear ;  his 
health,  we  are  very  much  afraid,  is  declining,  and  j*et  all  oar 
efforts  will  not  induce  him  to  see  a  physician,  he  holds  them 
in  such  an  abhorrence.  So,  all  our  efforts  failing,  Sir  Samp- 
son and  myself  have  agreed  upon  a  plan  which,  with  your 
kind  co-operation,  we  expect  and  hope  will  succeed ;  this  is  it : 
We  are  stopping  at  the  Brunswick  Hotel, — my  nephew, 
whose  name  is  Charles  Melville,  and  myself;  Sir  Sampson 
will  join  us  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock  ;  if  you  will  promise  to 
meet  us  at  the  same  hour,  I  am  sure  we  will  succeed  in  the 
scheme." 

The  doctor  readily  complying  with  her  request,  she  un- 
folded the  plot. 

' '  Hearing  that  we  are  in  the  city,  you  will  call  upon  us  as 
a  visitor.  I  shall  receive  you  alone  ;  after  you  have  been  in 
ft  short  time,  I  will  leave  you  to  send  my  nephew  to  3*ou  ;  you 
must  keep  him  in  conversation,  about  anything  but  the  object 
for  which  you  have  come,  until  the  arrival  of  Sir  Sampson, 
who  will  then  give  you  instructions  upon  how  you  are  to  pro- 
ceed. You  are  a  clever  doctor,  and  Sir  Sampson  has  the 
most  implicit  confidence  in  you.  As  for  myself,  I  can  only 
depend  upon  the  reports  I  have  heard  of  your  skill  and  talents 
as  a  physician ;  and,  those  being  of  the  most  flattering  de- 
scription, I  place  my  nephew  wholly  under  your  care,  certain 
that  you  will  exert  yourself  to  the  utmost  in  his  behalf. 
Once  you  have  gained  upon  him,  his  prejudice  is  easily  over- 
come, and  he  will  be  very  tractable  in  your  hands." 

After  this  tribute  to  the  doctor's  talents,  Lady  Sprague  re- 
quested him  to  state  his  price,  and  she  would  give  it  to  him 
then ;  but  the  doctor  politely  declined  accepting  it  until  he 
ascertained  the  condition  of  the  young  man,  and  to  what  ex- 
tent his  attendance  would  be  required. 

Lady  Sprague  rising  to  depart,  the   doctor  accompanied 


DR.    PHILIPS    VISITOR.  49 

her  to  her  carriage,  assisted  her  in,  and  then  betook  himself 
to  meditating  on  his  strange  visitor  and  her  incomparable 
beauty. 

The  next  morning  Lady  Sprague  was  rolling  in  her  luxuri- 
ous carriage  through  the  streets  of  London.  Stopping  before 
a  jeweller's  large  establishment,  she  alighted,  gave  the  coach- 
man instructions  to  wait  for  her,  and  entered  the  store.  She 
waited  until  a  particular  clerk  was  at  leisure  to  attend  to  her, 
then  requested  him  to  show  her  a  set  of  diamonds  ;  she  ex- 
amined a  number  of  them  without  being  satisfied ;  at  length, 
after  the  clerk  had  shown  her  every  set  in  the  store,  she 
selected  the  most  expensive  set,  and  ordered  it  to  be  sent  to 
the  Brunswick  Hotel,  where  Sir  Sampson  Sprague  would  pay 
the  bill.  She  further  requested  that  no  other  clerk  than  the 
one  to  whom  she  addressed  herself  would  deliver  them,  and 
said  that  he  must  be  there  precisely  at  two  o'clock,  or  lose 
the  opportunity  of  seeing  Sir  Sampson. 

The  proprietor  promised  that  her  orders  would  be  strictly 
obeyed ;  and,  in  respect  to  her  ladyship,  he  accompanied  her 
to  the  carriage,  and  with  the  greatest  ceremony  assisted  her 
in,  waiting  at  the  door  to  see  her  driven  off,  mentally  calcu- 
lating the  immense  progress  of  his  business  if  a  few  more 
customers  of  her  station  would  favor  him  with  a  visit.  Lady 
Sprague,  in  the  mean  time,  was  reclining  indolently  in  her  car- 
riage, viewing  with  a  complacent  air  all  who,  attracted  by  the 
brilliancy  of  the  equipage,  raised  their  eyes  in  admiration  to 
its  occupant,  and  took  a  long  earnest  gaze  at  her  handsome 
face. 

It  wanted  ten  minutes  of  two  by  Dr.  Philly's  watch  ;  at  a 
brisk  walk,  he  would  easily  reach  the  Brunswick  Hotel  in 
about  seven  minutes.  Leaving  word  that  he  would  probably 
return  in  an  hour  and  a  half,  he  started  on  his  journey.  The 
hotel  clock  was  striking  two  as  he  ascended  the  wide  stair- 
case leading  to  Lady  Sprague's  apartments.  Upon  being 
announced,  Lady  Sprague  received  him  courteously,  and  for 


50  DR.    PHILLT*S    VISITOR. 

the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  interested  him  with  her 
vivacious  talk  and  ready  wit ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  ^he 
arose,  saying,  with  a  smile,  that  she  would  send  her  nephew 
to  him,  and  that  she  would  be  very  anxious  to  know  the  re- 
sult of  his  visit. 

She  immediately  left  the  doctor,  and,  entering  the  same 
room  she  had  quitted  when  the  doctor  was  announced,  spoke 
to  the  pale,  delicate-looking  clerk,  who  held  in  his  hands  the 
diamonds  she  had  purchased  the  day  before. 

"  You  will  find  Sir  Sampson  Sprague  in  the  third  room  on 
the  right  of  the  passage  ;  he  is  waiting  to  pay  you,"  said  she 
to  him,  taking  the  box  from  him. 

The  young  man  went  to  Sir  Sampson,  and,  as  he  supposed, 
found  him  as  she  had  stated.  The  doctor  began  at  once  a 
friendly  conversation,  addressing  the  young  man  as  Mr.  Mel- 
ville, which  was  really  his  name. 

It  was  three  o'clock,  and  Dr.  Philly  had  seen  nothing  of 
Sir  Sampson ;  nor  did  his  lady  come  to  excuse  his  absence. 
He  was  growing  restless,  and  so  was  Mr.  Melville,  who  had 
work  to  do.  The  doctor  at  last,  almost  goaded  to  despera- 
tion, after  waiting  twenty  minutes  longer,  asked  Mr.  Melville 
if  he  thought  Sir  Sampson  was  ever  coming.  The  young 
man  stared  at  htm,  and  asked  him  as  abruptly  if  he  was  not 
Sir  Sampson  himself. 

"  Sir  Sampson!"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "and  you  his 
nephew." 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  the  young  clerk's  mind  that  he  had 
been  tricked ;  and,  relating  what  had  taken  place,  the  doctor 
was  soon  of  the  same  opinion,  and  was  further  impressed  with 
the  belief  that  he  was  the  principal  dupe  in  the  deception.  A 
search  was  made  ;  but  her  ladyship  had  departed,  with  the 
diamonds,  and  no  tidings  of  her  could  they  obtain.  She  left 
her  bill  at  the  hotel  unpaid,  and  several  of  the  large  places 
of  business  had  suffered  from  her. 

When  the  case  was  given  into  the  hands  of  detectives,  it 


DR.  PHTLLY'S  VISITOK.  51 

was  then  learned  that  she  was  not  the  real  Lady  Sprague.  It 
was  a  mystery  how  she  had  learned  of  the  friendship  existing 
between  Sir  Sampson  and  Dr.  Philly,  or  how  she  had  found 
out  the  young  clerk's  name.  It  was  further  ascertained  that 
she  had  frequently,  in  different  cities,  played  the  same  trick, 
and  had  always  escaped  detection.  She  defied  the  efforts  of 
the  police,  as  effectually  in  this  case  as  in  others.  She  eluded 
their  grasp,  notwithstanding  all  their  precautions,  and  escaped 
to  America,  where  she  married  a  United  States  Senator,  and 
moved  in  the  highest  circles  in  Washington.  No  one  ever 
knew  her  past  history ;  she  was  universally  admired  and 
respected,  and  she  loved  her  husband  with  all  a  woman's 
devotion ;  she  preceded  him  to  the  grave,  but,  before  that 
event,  told  him  of  her  life  in  England. 

Her  father  was  a  Spaniard.  From  him  she  inherited  her 
dark,  massive  beauty,  for  which  she  was  remarkable.  Her 
mother  was  an  English  lady  of  rank  and  wealth  ;  she  was  the 
reigning  belle  at  the  time  of  her  father's  appearance  in  Eng- 
land. The  Spanish  adventurer  —  for  so  her  father  was  after- 
wards termed  in  London  —  was  determined  to  capture  the 
English  beauty,  not  for  herself,  but  for  her  money.  He  laid 
himself  out  well  for  his  plan,  and  succeeded  even  better  than 
he  had  expected.  Lady  Agnes  Clyde's  parents  looked  with 
favor  upon  the  Spanish  gentleman,  and  seemed  as  blind  to 
his  faults  as  their  daughter  was. 

They  were  married,  and  after  a  short  tour  went  to  reside  at 
Naples.  Here  the  wife  was  forced  to  supply  her  husband 
with  all  the  money  he  required ;  he  squandered  her  fortune, 
and  left  her  a  broken-hearted,  helpless  woman,  with  a  babe  a 
year  old.  Pride  sealed  her  lips,  and  her  English  friends 
never  knew  her  sufferings.  She  worked  and  toiled  from  day 
to  day,  struggling  through  poverty,  shame,  and  despair,  till 
disease  came  upon  her,  and  the  mother  love,  strong  within 
her,  compelled  her,  for  the  sake  of  her  child,  to  make  known 
her  circumstances. 


52  DR.  PHILLY'S  VISITOR. 

The  letter  brought  her  father  to  her  bedside.  He  longed 
to  take  her  home  with  him ;  but  she  was  sinking  fast,  and 
he  feared  she  never  would  reach  England  alive.  He  re- 
mained with  her  until  she  had  been  laid  beneath  the  ground, 
when  he  turned  his  face  towards  his  home,  bringing  his  little 
granddaughter,  five  years  old,  with  him. 

She  was  educated,  like  her  mother,  in  all  the  branches  of  a 
lady's  education.  She  lived  with  her  grandparents  till  she 
was  sixteen  years  old.  One  day  she  received  a  note,  signed 
by  her  father,  asking  her  to  meet  him  in  a  house  which  she 
was  accustomed  to  visit ;  she  was  a  fearless  girl,  and  had  a 
great  deal  of  her  father's  love  of  adventure  ;  she  met  him,  and 
he  proved  his  identity  beyond  a  doubt ;  the  consequence  of 
their  interview  was  that  she  left  England  with  him  that  night ; 
she  travelled  with  him  through  the  various  countries ;  his 
treatment  of  her  was  very  different  from  that  which  her 
mother  had  received.  She  had  all  she  could  desire,  was  flat- 
tered, admired,  sought  after ;  and  the  rambling  kind  of  life 
they  led  suited  her  well. 

But  the  same  hand  that  was  laid  heavily  upon  her  young 
mother  fell,  too,  upon  her  father.  Wild,  daring,  and  reck- 
less as  she  was,  she  showed,  however,  during  her  father's  ill- 
ness, the  self-sacrifice  and  patience  that  must  surely  have 
been  her  poor,  dead  mother's  gift  to  her.  She  tended  him 
constantly,  and,  even  when  she  heard  from  his  own  lips  that 
he  had  deceived  her,  as  he  had  her  mother,  she  did  not  for- 
sake him :  she  did  not  even  reproach  him,  but  bore  her  burden 
well,  if  not  nobly. 

When  her  father  died,  and  she  was  alone  in  the  world,  she 
began  the  practice  of  personating  people,  and  duping  the 
public,  as  we  have  above  related. 

She  did  not  dare  to  return  to  England  until  she  was  certain 
of  her  grandparents'  death,  when  she  began  her  practice  there, 
which  ended  with  Dr.  Philly. 

She  said  that  her  motive  for  acting  in  this  manner  was  to 


DR.  PHILIPS  VISITOB.  53 

gratify  her  passion  for  display ;  she  worked  honestly  to  sup- 
port herself,  but  found  herself  unable  to  dress  according  to  her 
desire,  and  so  obtained  it  by  fraud.  She  said  that  whatever  she 
wished  for,  if  it  was  a  possible  thing,  she  procured  it  by  some 
dishonest  means ;  she  supposed  that  her  father's  disposition 
was  stronger  in  her  than  her  mother's,  and  so,  notwithstand- 
ing her  education  and  the  care  lavished  upon  her  by  her 
grandparents,  she  leaned  towards  the  grosser  qualities  of  her 
nature,  and  thus  became  unworthy  of  the  name  of  woman. 

She  repented  earnestly  upon  her  death-bed,  and  her  hus- 
band sincerely  cherished  her  memory. 


54  CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMTOESSION. 


CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION. 


A  LADY  and  gentleman  are  walking  through  the  long  rows 
of  children,  arranged  on  cither  side  of  the  yard  of  St.  Joseph's 
Home.  They  are  placed  there  by  the  lady's  request ;  she  is 
going  to  adopt  one  of  the  little  girls ;  and  the  fortunate  one 
is  promised  a  luxurious  home,  the  advantages  of  an  excellent 
education,  and,  better  than  all,  the  love  and  care  of  one  who 
says  she  will  be  a  mother  to  her  in  every  respect.  The  lady's 
face,  voice,  and  manner  indicate  that  she  really  and  con- 
scientiously means  to  do  all  that  she  has  promised.  The 
poor,  forlorn  little  wanderers,  who  have  found  a  haven  here, 
look  from  one  to  the  other,  and  then  at  the  lady  and  gentle- 
man, who  are  examining  them  minutely,  and  giving  their 
opinions  as  they  walk  among  them.  The  choice  seems  to 
entirely  depend  upon  the  lady,  who  does  not  seem  satisfied 
with  her  scrutiny,  and  refers  to  the  gentleman's  opinion, 
whether  they  had  better  call  upon  the  Home  for  Little  "Wan- 
derers, and  see  if  they  will  meet  with  better  success. 

He,  in  answer,  calls  her  attention  to  a  diminutive  figure  at 
the  head  of  the  line  ;  and  they  both  proceed  to  examine  it. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  one?"  the  gentleman  asks, 
placing  his  hand  gently  upon  her  head.  "  Bertha  Clafland" 
is  the  reply,  in  a  sweet,  childish  voice. 

Bertha  Clafland  is  looked  at  closely ;  the  gentleman  and 
lady  hold  a  consultation ;  and  at  last  the  matron  is  asked  a 
few  questions,  which  are  answered  in  such  a  satisfactory  man- 
ner that  Bertha  is  arrayed  in  her  gingham  sun-bonnet,  and, 


CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION.  55 

under  the  escort  of  the  lady  and  gentleman,  is  placed  in  a 
carriage,  and  driven  away. 

"  A  strange  child,"  the  matron  had  called  her;  "quiet, 
thoughtful,  and  very  intelligent."  It  was  character  enough 
for  Bertha ;  and,  "  strange  child"  as  she  was,  she  knew  what 
it  all  meant,  and  was  wondering  what  kind  of  a  home  her 
new  one  would  be,  and  if  she  would  love  the  great,  tall  gen- 
tleman opposite  her  in  the  carriage,  and  the  kind-looking  lady 
with  the  sweet  voice  and  large  bright  ej-es,  that  always  filled 
with  tears  when  she  looked  at  her. 

Their  destination  seemed  to  be  a  long  way  off ;  for  it  was 
growing  dark,  and  they  were  still  whirling  along  through  the 
streets.  The  lady  told  her  that  she  was  going  to  be  her  little 
girl  now,  and  that  the  gentleman  was  going  to  be  her  father ; 
her  name  was  to  be  Gertie  Sexton ;  she  was  to  be  a  good 
little  girl,  and  they  would  love  her  very  much  and  be  very 
kind  to  her. 

Bertha,  or,  as  we  must  call  her  hereafter,  Gertie,  agreed  in 
her  childish  way  to  all  they  said ;  answering,  with  a  look  of 
confidence  and  a  smile  of  gladness,  that  she  would  try  to 
please  them  in  every  thing.  .Gertie  was  now  about  eight 
years  old.  She  remembered  her  mother  well,  —  remembered 
her  so  well  that  all  that  future  years  would  bring  to  her,  all 
the  changes  that  would  happen  to  her  in  her  new  life,  and  all 
the  affection  and  love  that  new  friends  would  lavish  upon  her, 
would  never  obliterate  from  her  mind  the  memory  of  her  dear, 
dead  mother's  love  and  devotion  in  the  midst  of  privation  and 
suffering. 

Miss  Curtis  had  married  the  stalwart,  strong  John  Claf- 
land.  She  was  a  dress-maker,  pretty  and  delicate.  He  was 
a  carpenter,  and  was  termed  the  handsomest  man  in  the  vil- 
lage. Well,  they  were  married,  and  were  blessed  with  two 
children,  —  Benjamin  Curtis,  and  our  little  Bertha.  They 
were  happy  and  contented,  though  little  trifles  sometimes 
vexed  them,  as  they  often  do  the  struggling  poor ;  but  thej' 


56  CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSIOW. 

were  easily  overcome  by  the  brave,  courageous  spirit  of  the 
husband,  and  the  sweet,  helpful  disposition  of  the  wife. 

One  morning  John  Clafland  kissed  his  wife  and  babies 
good-b}*,  and  went  out  cheerfully  to  work.  That  was  the  last 
kiss  they  ever  received  from  him ;  it  was  his  farewell  kiss, 
although  he  nor  they  knew  it  not.  The  wife  never  saw  him 
after,  until  he  was  brought  to  her  door,  bruised,  shattered,  and 
dead.  He  had  fallen  from  a  high  building  on  which  he  was 
at  work,  and  his  fellow- workmen  had  picked  him  up  a  corpse. 

The  story  was  a  brief  one ;  but  for  her,  poor  woman !  it 
contained  a  weary,  lonely,  sorrow-laden  life  of  struggle, 
misery,  and  despair.  The  mother  bore  up  under  her  burden 
for  about  two  years,  when  sorrow  had  completed  its  work, 
and  she  was  laid  beside  her  husband.  The  two  children  were 
sent  to  the  Orphan  Asylum.  Benjamin  had  been  taken  from 
there,  a  few  months  before  Bertha,  by  one  of  the  professors  of 
a  college,  who  said  he  had  a  fine,  intellectual  head,  and  would 
advance  rapidly  if  he  had  opportunities.  He  was  ten  years 
old,  a  healthy,  handsome  boy,  very  much  like  his  father.  So 
he  and  Bertha  were  parted,  and  the  matron  had  said  that  the 
little  girl  had  grown  quieter  and  more  melancholy  after  her 
brother's  departure. 

\Ve  will  return  now  to  the  occupants  of  the  carriage. 
After  a  great  many  windings  through  long,  narrow  streets, 
the  carriage  came  into  the  open  country  road,  and  wheeled 
along,  leaving  fences,  fields,  and  farms  far  behind  it,  until  at 
last  it  drew  up  before  a  large,  handsome  house.  The 
grounds  were  covered  with  the  most  beautiful  flowers  Bertha 
had  ever  seen.  Before  she  had  time  to  give  way  to  her 
surprise,  however,  the  gentleman,  taking  her  lightly  in  his 
arms,  lifted  her  up  the  wide  steps  leading  to  the  house  ;  the 
door  was  opened  by  a  servant;  and  Bertha,  holding  her 
father's  hand,  entered  her  future  home.  They  proceeded  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  a  youth  of  about  eighteen 
was  seated  at  a  piano,  thrumming  it  most  furiously.  He 


CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION.  57 

turned  around  upon  their  entrance,  and   faced  them.     He 
had  laughing  brown  eyes,  and  a  saucy,  mischievous  face. 

"Our  little  girl,  Charles,"  said  Mr.  Sexton;  "Miss 
Gertie  Sexton,"  he  continued. 

' '  Charles  "  bowed  most  obsequiously,  shook  hands  with  her, 
and  called  her  "  Sis,"  greatly  to  Gertie's  discomflture  ;  who, 
to  his  infinite  amusement,  informed  him  several  times  during 
ths  evening  that  her  name  was  Gertie.  Charles,  however, 
insisted  on  calling  her  "  Sis  ;  "  and  Gertie,  in  wonderment  at 
his  poor  memory,  acknowledged  the  appellation. 

Charles  Kent,  like  Gertie,  had  been  left  an  orphan  at 
an  early  age ;  but,  unlike  Gertie,  his  parents  left  him  an 
immense  fortune.  His  mother  and  Mrs.  Sexton  were 
cousins ;  and,  upon  the  death  of  the  former,  Mrs.  Sexton 
had  brought  Charles,  then  a  boy  of  seven  years,  home  with 
her.  He  was  at  present  home  for  the  vacation,  which  had 
commenced  at  the  college  he  attended  some  weeks  before. 
He  did  not  at  all  admire  the  little  one  whom  his  cousin,  or 
his  aunt,  as  he  called  her,  had  adopted ;  and  was  much 
disappointed  in  his  aunt's  judgment,  as  ha  termed  it. 

The  little  girl  before  him  had  small,  delicate  features ; 
but  they  possessed  neither  beauty  nor  regularity.  The  eyes 
were  dark  and  brilliant ;  but  they  were  much  too  large  for 
the  small  face,  which  was  covered  with  large  freckles,  that 
produced  upon  the  beholder  anything  but  a  pleasing  effect. 
Gertie  watched  him  curiously  during  the  evening  ;  seeming  to 
know  that  he  did  not  like  her ;  and,  being  a  proud-spirited 
little  thing,  kept  herself  out  of  his  way :  because,  too, 
sometimes,  in  his  boy  fashion,  he  would  tell  her  that  she  was 
not  pretty ;  and,  delighting  in  the  air  of  defiance  that  she 
would  assume  at  such  times,  would  tell  her,  further,  that  she 
never  would  be  pretty.  So  Gertie,  in  her  small  way,  began 
to  hate  Charles  Kent ;  and,  when  the  time  came  for  him 
to  return  to  college,  she  ran  into  the  barn  and  hid,  so  that  she 
would  not  say  good-by  when  he  was  going. 
a? 


58  CHAKLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION. 

After  Charles's  departure,  Gertie  was  at  peace.  She 
roamed  tho  fields  all  day,  plucked  flowers  from  tho  garden, 
aud  had  a  multitude  of  toys  of  every  description  to  play 
with ;  oho  went  out  driving  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sexton,  went 
with  her  mother  when  she  called  upon  her  neighbors,  and  was 
loved  and  petted  by  all  in  the  house.  Gertie  had  come  to 
her  new  home  in  the  month  of  July ;  and  all  the  time  till 
Christmas  they  had  been  buying  and  making  her  the  most 
beautiful  dresses  and  bonnets.  At  the  beginning  of  the  New 
Year,  Gertie  was  sent  to  a  neighboring  school,  where  she 
remained  until  her  twelfth  year.  During  these  }-ears  she 
had  seen  Charles  Kent  frequently ;  for  he  often  came  home, 
on  various  pretexts,  remaining  a  few  days,  and  then  hurrying 
back  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

He  and  Gertie  were  on  no  friendlier  terms  after  these 
visits  than  before.  He  had  noticed  a  remarkable  change  in 
her  appearance.  During  onc>  of  these  visits  he  told  her  that 
he  revoked  his  former  opinion  of  her,  and  said  that  she 
certainly  would  be  pretty,  as  her  growing  indicated.  This 
opinion,  flattering  as  it  was,  was  no  more  favorably  received 
than  his  former  one  had  been.  Gertie,  in  a  saucy  way, 
informed  him  that  his  opinion  was  nothing  to  her  whatever, 
and  that,  any  way,  it  was  not  worth  much  to  any  one. 

When  Gertie  was  thirteen  years  old,  she  was  placed  at 
a  boarding-school ;  where  she  studied  diligently,  and  at  the 
end  of  five  years  graduated,  a  well-educated,  accomplished, 
handsome  .young  lady.  During  these  five  years  she  had  never 
seen  Charles  Kent ;  for  he  had  been  abroad  since  the  year 
after  she  left  home,  and  had  not  yet  returned. 

The  end  of  Gertie's  school-days  had  come.  Clarine  Law- 
rence, her  bosom  friend,  begged  her  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
of  the  summer  with  her ;  she  had  written  home  for  permis- 
sion ;  and,  it  being  granted,  the  two  girls  were  delighted 
when  they  found  themselves  under  tho  care  of  Mr.  Lawrence, 
who  had  come  to  take  them  to  his  summer  residence  at 


CHAKLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPKESSION.  59 

Nantucket.  While  there,  Mr.  Lawrence's  clerk  called  one 
evening  upon  business.  Clarine  and  Gertie  were  walking 
through  the  garden  when  ho  passed  theia  and  entered  the 
house.  Something  in  his  appearance  struck  Gertie,  and  the 
face  seemed  strangely  familiar.  While  she  was  wondering 
where  she  could  have  met  the  j'oung  man,  whose  face  she  was 
positive  she  had  seen  before,  they  were  joined  by  four  or  Qve 
of  Mr.  Lawrence's  guests,  on  their  way  to  the  croquet 
ground,  and  the  game  completely  chased  all  thoughts  of  the 
young  man  from  her  mind. 

A  few  weeks  after,  Mr.  Lawrence  told  Clarine  that  he  had 
taken  his  clerk,  James  Wentworth,  into  partnership,  and 
that  he  would  bring  him  home  to  dinner  next  day.  Gertie 
was  the  next  one  to  hear  the  news  about  the  new  partner ; 
and  she  and  Clarine  decided  to  receive  him  first,  and  then 
introduce  him  to  the  others. 

The  next  day  brought  Mr.  Lawrence  home  earlier  than 
usual.  He  was  accompanied  by  the  new  partner, — a  tall, 
finely  proportioned  young  man,  with  a  strongly -marked, 
handsome,  intelligent  face ;  he  did  not  appear  to  be  more 
than  twenty  years  old.  Mr.  Lawrence  presented  him  to  the 
two  young  ladies.  He  was  sociable,  self-possessed,  and  evi- 
dently enjoyed  their  company  very  much. 

At  dinner  he  made  himself  so  agreeable  that  all  the  guests 
were  delighted  with  him  ;  and  some  among  them  predicted  a 
brilliant  future  for  him.  He  had  received  and  accepted  a 
multitude  of  invitations  to  picnics  and  excursion  parties. 

He  came  frequently  to  the  house  after  his  first  introduc- 
tion there,  and  was  always  a  welcome  visitor.  He  kept  very 
secret  about  his  family,  and  never  spoke  about  his  past  life. 
Whenever  the  subject  was  touched  upon  he  seemed  to  be  very 
impatient  until  it  was  changed.  Clarine  Lawrence  favored 
him  ;  and  it  could  easily  be  seen  that  she  was  falling  in  love 
with  him  more  and  more  every  day.  He,  however,  seemed 
to  enjoy  Gertie's  company  more  than  Clarine's,  although  he 


60  CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSIOW. 

strove  to  keep  his  feelings  in  subjection,  that  he  might  give 
no  offence  to  any  person. 

Again  and  again  Gertie  Sexton  endeavored  to  remember 
where  and  under  what  circumstances  she  had  seen  James 
"Wentworth  before.  The  name  she  had  never  heard  until  she 
was  introduced  to  him ;  but  the  face, — that  alone  seemed 
veiy  familiar  to  her.  It  seemed  to  be  associated  with 
something  she  had  lost  and  had  not  yet  recovered. 

Gertrude  Sexton  had  been,  since  her  adoption,  a  gay  and 
merry  child.  She  had  grown,  with  her  kind,  indulgent 
parents'  aid  and  refined  surroundings,  a  sweet-tempered, 
light-hearted  girl,  that  no  one  thought  bore  underneath  her 
happy  exterior  a  heart  that  pined  for  something  more, — 
something  beyond  what  she  possessed,  something  her  present 
life  could  never  bestow, — infinitely  dearer,  brighter,  and 
purer  than  any  joy  she  had  ever  known. 

The  one  effort  of  Gertrude's  life,  she  determined,  would 
be  a  return  of  gratitude  and  love  for  the  kind,  liberal  manner 
in  which  her  benefactors  had  treated  her;  she  would  be 
grateful  to  them  in  every  look,  word,  and  action ;  with  this 
determination  she  parted  from  Clarine  Lawrence,  and  returned 
to  her  own  dear  home. 

A  year  rolled  swiftly  by, — a  year  which  was  full  of  happi- 
ness for  Gertrude.  She  had  received  frequent  visits  from 
James  Wentworth ;  their  friendship  ripened  into  affection ; 
and  now  they  were  soon  to  receive  their  crowning  joy, — to  be 
all  and  all  to  each  other,  husband  and  wife.  One  morning 
Gertrude  was  seated  at  the  window  sewing ;  she  was  thinking 
of  many  things,  pleasant  and  unpleasant ;  the  subject  upper- 
most in  her  mind  was  the  one  upon  which,  in  spite  of  her 
happiness,  she  could  not  think  upon  without  a  shade  of  sorrow 
ov;  rspreading  her  countenance, — her  approaching  nuptials. 
She  \vas  interrupted  in  her  musing  by  her  father,  who  was 
reading  the  letters  which  the  morning  mail  had  brought. 


CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION.  SI 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he,  "we  will  have  a  visitor  next  month ; 
some  one  whom  }rou  have  not  seen  for  some  time." 

Gertrude  looked  up  from  her  work  without  replying. 

"  Charles  Kent  is  coming  home,"  her  father  continued. 
"  Here  is  his  letter  ;  read  it." 

The  letter,  which  Gertrude  took  from  her  father's  hand, 
was  dated  September,  and  came  from  Paris.  In  it  the  writer 
stated  that  he  was  tired  of  roving,  and  would  be  very 
glad  when  he  would  be  safe  at  home.  He  gave  quite  a 
lengthy  description  of  his  travels,  and  the  various  sights  he 
had  seen,  and  closed  with  a  description  of  the  quiet  and  rest 
he  was  going  to  enjoy  at  home,  where  he  always  found 
his  dearest  and  truest  friends.  The  letter  bore  no  reference 
to  Gertrude :  it  was  of  no  interest  to  her  what  the  writer 
intended  to  do  ;  and  yet  there  was  a  blush  upon  her  cheeks, 
a  brightness  in  her  eyes,  and  a  painful  throb  at  her  heart, 
as  she  returned  the  letter  to  her  father,  saying, — 

' '  Mother  will  be  so  pleased  when  she  hears  it !  she  has 
spoken  of  Charles  so  often  lately,  always  expressing  the  wish 
that  he  would  soon  return  home." 

Mrs.  Sexton  began  to  prepare  for  Charles's  coming  the 
following  week.  Charles  Kent  was  Mrs.  Sexton's  only  living 
relative  ;  and  she  was  very  fond  of  him, — partly  because  it 
was  easy  to  grow  to  love  him,  and  partly  because  he  showed 
himself  grateful  for  her  kindness  to  him,  and  always  consulted 
her  pleasure  before  his  own ;  but  she  loved  him  principally 
for  his  mother's  sake.  Mrs.  Sexton  had  promised  her  cousin, 
upon  her  dying  bed,  that  she  would  be  kind  to  Charles  ;  and 
she  had  been  faithful  to  the  promise.  Gertrude  assisted  her 
mother  in  her  preparations,  and  unselfishly  put  her  own 
feelings  out  of  sight,  in  her  endeavors  to  please  her  mother. 
But  every  day  that  brought  his  approach  nearer  brought 
happiness  to  the  one  and  anguish  to  the  other ;  the  mention 
of  his  name  sent  a  thrill  of  gladness  through  Mrs.  Sexton's 
heart,  but  filled  Gertie's  with  a  pain  that  none  could  guess. 


62  CHARLES  KENT'S  FIKST  IMPKESSION. 

How  could  she,  proud  and  sensitive  as  she  was,  bear  his 
taunts  and  jests  as  she  did  when  a  child  ?  how  could  she  bear 
to  have  him  use  her  birth  and  position  in  his  aunt's  house  as 
a  sneer  against  any  privilege  she  might  assume  before  him. 
These  thoughts  annoyed  her ;  for  if  the  boy  had  grown  up  to 
manhood  with  the  tendencies  she  had  known  him  to  display, 
then,  indeed,  her  life  henceforth  under  the  same  roof  with 
him  would  be  unendurable.  The  bitterness  of  her  heart  was 
somewhat  lessened  by  the  thought  that  she  would  not  be  long 
under  his  taunts, — only  a  few  months  at  the  most ;  then 
James  "Wentworth  would  claim  her  as  his  bride. 

It  was  the  day  that  Charles  Kent  was  expected  to  arrive  ; 
the  dinner  had  been  put  back  an  hour,  and  Mr.  Sexton  had 
gone  to  meet  his  nephew.  Gertrude  was  arranging  some 
flowers  in  Charles's  old  room,  when  she  heard  the  sound 
of  carriage  wheels ;  she  descended  quickly  to  the  parlor, 
where  her  mother  was  eagerly  waiting  for  her  nephew's 
arrival.  The  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  the  two  men 
alighted.  Gertrude  saw  a  tall,  manly -looking  fellow  clasp 
her  mother  in  his  arms,  almost  smothering  her  with  kisses. 
Without  waiting  for  an  introduction,  although  it  had  been  years 
since  they  met,  Gertrude  stepped  forward,  offering  her  hand  ; 
welcoming  him  home  in  a  few  short  words.  He  took  her 
hand,  thanking  her  in  a  full,  deep  voice,  and  looked  earnestly 
into  the  dark,  wistful  eyes  raised  to  his.  Whatever  he 
might  be,  the  manly,  noble  face,  with  its  bright,  candid  eyes 
and  laughing  mouth,  spoke  loudly  in  favor  of  their  possessor. 

Gertrude  found,  much  to  her  relief,  that  she  would  have  no 
cause  for  complaint  upon  the  subject  which  had  given  her  so 
much  annoyance.  The  boy  had  grown  up  true  to  every 
instinct  of  delicacy  in  his  nature,  true  to  ever}*  noble  prin- 
ciple of  life,  and  earnest  and  straightforward  in  his  dealings 
with  all. 

One  morning  he  stood  at  his  open  window,  looking  out 
upon  the  beautiful  prospect  before  him.  It  was  a  lovely 


CHAKLES  KENT'S  FIKST  IMPRESSION.  63 

scene,  and,  as  he  gazed  upon  it,  he  thought  of  the  skies  of 
Italy  he  had  so  lately  seen ;  while  thinking,  a  shade  of  sad- 
ness clouded  his  face  for  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  rested 
upon  an  object  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  garden.  Gertrude 
was  out  there,  watering  her  plants.  She  was  not  the  homely, 
little  orphan  in  his  eyes  any  longer ;  she  was  a  charming, 
beautiful  girl,  and  he  was  already  in  love  with  her.  But  she 
wore  a  ring  upon  one  of  her  fingers  that  made  Charles  Kent 
unhappy  :  he  could  never  win  her,  he  said  to  himself ;  she  was 
already  another's.  During  the  day  a  young  man  called  upon 
Gertrude  ;  he  was  made  very  much  of  by  Mrs.  Sexton,  and 
Gertrude  introduced  him  to  Charles  Kent  as  Mr.  James 
Wentworth. 

Charles  looked  at  him  steadily  a  moment,  and  then  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  "Why  Curtis,  old  fellow !  how  are  you? " 

At  the  name  of  Curtis  both  Mrs.  Sexton  and  Gertrude 
started,  and  looked  at  each  other.  The  }*oung  man  did  not 
notice  their  agitation,  but  continued  the  conversation  he  and 
Charles  had  commenced. 

Mr.  Curtis,  at  the  urgent  request  of  Mrs.  Sexton,  remained 
for  dinner ;  after  which  he  and  Gertrude  went  out  to  walk  ; 
he  came  home  with  her,  bid  Mrs.  Sexton  good-by,  and 
started  for  the  city,  promising  to  come  again  the  next  week, 
and  stay  longer  if  possible. 

During  the  evening  Gertrude  was  very  thoughtful ;  saying 
but  little,  and  that  in  a  low,  quivering  voice,  that  she  tried  to 
steady  in  spite  of  the  pain  which  caused  its  trembling.  She 
was  very  pale  the  next  morning,  as  she  came  over  to  where 
Charles  was  reading  ;  and,  seating  herself  at  a  table  near  by, 
asked  in  a  quiet  voice  if  he  could  tell  her  anything  concern- 
ing James  Wentworth's  history. 

He  noticed  her  agitation  this  time,  and  asked  her  if  she 
were  ill.  She  replied  in  the  negative,  repeating  her  former 
question.  He  told  her :  "  All  I  know  of  him  is,  that  he  had 


64  CHARLES  KENT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION. 

been  adopted  by  Professor  Spalding,  of  the  college  I 
attended;  he  was  a  little  boy  when  the  professor  first 
brought  him  to  the  school ;  he  said  his  name  was  James 
Curtis  Spalding,  which  we  fellows  shortened,  by  calling  him 
Curtis  ;  he  was  a  bright,  intelligent  lad,  and  learned  quickly  ; 
we  all  liked  him  for  his  open-heartedness  and  generous, 
obliging  disposition.  His  benefactor  died  when  he  was  only 
thirteen,  and  he  was  compelled  to  work  around  the  college 
for  his  board  and  education.  We  made  it  easy  for  him; 
because  we  all  liked  him.  This  was  the  manner  in  which  he 
received  the  education  that  enables  him  to  fill  the  position  he 
now  occupies.  When  he  left  the  college,  I  suppose  he 
changed  his  name  to  prevent  his  origin  being  known.  Cur- 
tis is  a  good,  honest,  manly  fellow,"  was  Charles's  con- 
cluding remark.  But  Gertrude  did  not  heed  it:  she  had 
risen  from  her  seat  with  a  mingled  sense  of  pain  and  pleasure, 
and  left  the  room. 

Reaching  her  own  room,  Gertrude  wrote  a  hasty  note  to 
James,  telling  him  to  come  immediately  to  her. 

The  afternoon  train  of  the  next  day  brought  him.  She 
was  in  the  garden  when  he  came  up  to  her.  Mrs.  Sexton 
sent  him  there,  and,  finding  Gertrude,  he  inquired  the  cause 
of  her  strange,  hurried  note.  She  told  him  that  she  had 
every  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  her  brother ;  giving  him 
the  details  she  had  learned  from  Charles  Kent,  together  with 
an  account  of  her  own  adoption.  He  had  always  supposed 
that  she  was  the  real  daughter  of  Mrs.  Sexton.  He  had 
sought  for  his  sister,  knowing  he  had  one.  He  had  gone  to 
the  asylum,  where  they  were  both  placed  after  their  parents' 
death  ;  but  the  matron  had  died,  and  the  books  were  badly 
kept — some  adoptions  being  inserted,  and  others  not, — con- 
sequently he  could  get  no  account  of  her.  He  was  even  at 
that  time  searching  for  her,  learning  that  a  little  girl  had  been 
taken  from  the  asylum  some  ten  years  ago,  by  a  Mrs.  Stetson 
of  New  York  ;  but  there,  too,  he  had  failed  in  his  search  ;  an 


CHARLES  KEXT'S  FIRST  IMPRESSION.  65 

old  man  who  had  worked  at  the  asylum,  and  whom  he  had 
hunted  up,  gave  him  this  piece  of  information.  His  memory 
failing,  probably  he  had  got  the  name  of  Stetson,  instead  of 
Sexton. 

Thus  the  brother  and  sister  met,  after  years  of  separation, 
and  what  Gertrude  had  prayed  for  long  and  earnestly  was 
granted  to  her, — a  brother's  love  and  protection. 

Charles  Kent  was  slowly  recovering  from  a  severe  attack 
of  pleurisy.  He  had  been  dangerously  sick  the  whole  win- 
ter ;  his  life  had  been  despaired  of :  but  with  great  care  he 
had  battled  through  it ;  and  now  he  would  get  better,  the 
physician  told  him.  Oh  the  long  weeks  of  sickness,  when 
he  lay  quietly  unheedful  of  what  might  happen  to  him !  oh 
the  still  longer  weeks,  when  he  lay  conscious  of  his  own 
inability  to  help  himself,  and  had  to  wait  until  kind  hands 
ministered  to  him ! 

In  his  moments  of  delirium  the  quiet,  gentle  voice  of 
Gertrude  haunted  him ;  her  dark  eyes  beamed  upon  him  in 
his  uneasy  dreams  ;  and  her  dear  presence  was  ever  with  him 
in  his  wildest,  as  well  as  calmest,  moments.  He  was  better 
now,  and  Gertrude's  presence  was  really  with  him. 

He  had  something  to  ask  her  this  morning,  and  he  was 
anxious  to  have  it  over.  Gertrude  had  been  very  kind  to 
him  during  his  illness,  so  his  aunt  had  told  him  ;  and,  if  he 
loved  her  before,  his  love  had  increased  tenfold  during  his 
sickness. 

The  answer  to  his  all-important  question  was  very  satis- 
factory to  him :  he  and  Bertha  Clafland,  who  had  so  much 
dreaded  his  coming  home,  found  that  they  loved  each  other 
tenderly  and  passionately,  and  so,  in  the  flush  of  the  early 
spring-time,  and  in  the  calm  and  quiet  of  evening,  they 
promised  to  be  faithful  to  each  other  till  death.  Somewhat 
later  in  the  }*ear,  Benjamin  Curtis  Clafland  and  Clarine 
Lawrence  made  the  same  pi'omise  to  each  other. 


66 

Bertha  and  Charles  remained  with  Mr.  and  Airs.  Sexton ; 
Mrs.  Sexton  had  begged  them  not  to  leave  her  now ;  and, 
through  the  love  and  gratitude  they  both  owed  their  kind 
benefactors,  they  lived  with  them,  and  were  always  kind, 
grateful,  and  generous  towards  them. 


LORD  CLIFTON. 


EGLESTON  HALL  was  crowded ;  people  were  going  in  and 
out  in  a  perpetual  stream  all  day ;  crowds  were  at  the  doors, 
waiting  for  admission,  long  before  they  were  opened.  The 
cause  of  this  unusual  gathering  was  announced  by  large 
placards  upon  the  walls  outside  of  the  building.  Read- 
ing it,  we  learn  that  Mr.  Mosure,  the  distinguished  artist, 
whose  extraordinary  genius  has  been  acknowledged  through- 
out America,  has  hired  Egleston  Hah1,  where  his  works  will 
be  on  exhibition  for  one  week ;  so  that  every  one  may  have 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  and  judging  the  merits  of  the 
numerous  paintings  and  statues  there  displayed. 

Among  the  crowd  which  has  entered  the  hall  is  a  young 
lady,  apparently  about  twenty  two  or  three  years  old ;  she 
has  a  quiet,  thoughtful  face,  with  an  habitual  expression  of  • 
sadness  overshadowing  it.  It  was  a  small,  pale,  delicate 
face,  with  tender,  expressive  eyes,  and  a  very  firm,  decided, 
little  chin.  She  was  unattended,  and  walked  from  picture  to 
picture  without  recognizing  any  one  in  the  crowd.  She  had 
finished  one  side  of  the  long  hall,  and  was  turning  to  cross 
to  the  other,  when  a  look  of  surprise  and  pain  passed  quickly 
over  her  countenance  ;  completely  unnerved,  she  stood  for  an 
instant  perfectly  motionless,  then  hurried  to  a  door  in  the 
real-  of  the  hall,  and  ran  hastily  down  the  stairs.  Emerging 
into  the  street,  she  drew  her  veil  over  her  face,  and  walked 
rapidly  to  the  next  corner,  where  she  entered  a  street  car, 
and  was  borne  quickly  away.  The  cause  of  her  sudden 


68  LORD    CLIFTON. 

departure  and  strange  alarm  seemed  to  have  been  the  approach 
of  a  young  man,  who  was  directing  his  quick,  uneven  steps 
towards  her.  He  was  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  when  she 
turned  to  cross  it.  The  recognition  between  them  was 
instantaneous,  and  did  not  appear  to  be  an  agreeable  one 
upon  the  part  of  the  young  lady,  who,  as  soon  as  she  could, 
fled  from  the  building. 

The  young  man,  who  was  very  dark  and  reserved-looking, 
started  to  follow  her ;  but  was  met,  before  he  had  gone  many 
steps,  by  an  old  friend  seemingly,  who  grasped  him  by  the 
hand,  shook  it  with  great  heartiness,  and  then  let  it  go,  only 
to  take  his  arm  familiarly,  and  drag  him  through  the  crowd, 
from  place  to  place,  without  appearing  to  have  any  intention 
of  ever  letting  him  go  again." 

The  dark,  secret-looking  man  glanced  occasionally  towards 
the  door  through  which  the  young  lady  had  passed,  as  if  he 
fully  made  up  his  mind  to  break  away  from  his  companion, 
and  escape  by  the  same  means  the  jyoung  stranger  had. 
Both  men  talked  in  a  rather  loud  tone,  and  the  newcomer 
was  urging  his  companion  to  do  something  which  the  other 
seemed  averse  to  do. 

"  Well,  that  is  the  only  way  I  can  help  you  ;  if  you  do  as 
I  say,  you  may  obtain  some  valuable  information.  Mr. 
Mosure  is  not  supposed  to  know  your  profession,  and  there- 
fore a  few  questions  put  to  him  will  not  elicit  any  surprise 
from  him.  Are  you  agreed?  " 

This  much  was  said  to  the  dark  man  by  his  friend,  who 
now  stood  before  one  of  the  doors  leading  from  the  hall, 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

His  companion  turned,  and,  looking  at  him  steadily  for  a 
few  moments,  said,  "  You  promise  not  to  betray  me?" 

They  both  passed  through  the  door  near  which  they  were 
standing,  and  entered  a  small  room  hung  with  paintings.  A 
man  in  the  prime  of  life  was  seated  at  a  table,  reading.  He 
looked  up  from  his  book  as  they  entered,  with  a  smile  of 


LOUD    CLIFTON.  69 

welcome.  Advancing  to  meet  them,  he  shook  hands  with 
him  who  had  first  proposed  entering  ;  he  was  then  introduced 
to  Mr.  Faulkner,  our  dark  friend,  as  Mr.  Mosure. 

This  room  the  artist  reserved  for  himself;  those  desirous 
of  purchasing  pictures,  or  of  seeing  him  upon  business, 
could  always  find  him  here  during  his  exhibitions.  He  placed 
two  chairs  for  his  visitors,  and,  resuming  his  own  seat, 
said,  — 

''So  you  are  home  again,  Tremple,  — for  how  long?" 

"  Oh  !  for  a  few  weeks,  I  suppose,  when  I'll  be  hard  at  it 
again." 

After  a  half-an-hour's  talk,  they  rose  to  go.  "When  near 
the  door,  the  one  addressed  as  Tremple  stopped  suddenly, 
turned  round,  saying,  as  if  he  just  thought  of  it, — 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Mosure,  who  is  the  young  lady  I  saw 
coming  out  of  here  this  morning  ?  " 

'•  The  young  lady,"  Mr.  Mosure  repeated  with  a  smile, — 
' '  your  question  is  not  a  definite  one  ;  there  has  been  quite  a 
number  of  3'oung  ladies  in  here  this  morning  ;  so,  whom  you 
mean  by  '  the  3~oung  lady,'  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know." 

"  Well,  this  one  was  not  like  any  of  the  others.  She  left 
here  about  an  hour  and  a  half  ago.  I  have  seen  her  here  at 
the  last  three  or  four  of  your  exhibitions  ;  she  is  very  pretty  ; 
and  I  thought,  when  she  visited  you  so  often,  that  you  might 
know  her." 

"  I  know  the  one  you  refer  to.  I  think  she  has  bought  a 
few  small  paintings  from  me,  and  came  in  this  morning  to 
inquire  the  price  of  one  in  the  hall  out  there.  I  don't  know 
her  name.  An  old  man,  probably  a  servant,  calls  for  the 
pictures  that  she  purchases,  and  therefore  I  never  had  occa- 
sion to  learn  her  address." 

Mr.  Fanikner's  face  looked  darker  than  ever ;  he  had  been 
disappointed,  and  could  not  help  showing  it. 

"  I  guess  %you  are  falling  in  love  with  that  pretty  face," 
rejoined  Mr.  Mosure.  turning  to  Tremple. 


70  LORD    CLIFTON. 

"  No,"  he  replied ;  "  I  saw  her  coming  in  here,  and  I 
thought  I'd  ask  you  if  you  knew  her." 

They  parted  then,  and,  when  the}'  were  again  on  the  street, 
Faulkner  said, — 

"  I  will  be  foiled  again  by  that  woman ;  I  am  sure  she  will 
escape  me  now,  as  she  did  before." 

"  She  must  be  a  vigilant  little  lady  to  outdo  you,  Faulk- 
ner ;  I  am  sorry  that  I  prevented  you  from  carrying  out  your 
designs,  and  }*ou  so  near  completing  them.  Now,  that  you 
have  met  her  once,  you  may  again,  perhaps  by  mere  chance, 
as  3'ou  did  this  tune." 

' '  My  chance  in  that  way  is  lost ;  for  she  will  keep  herself 
out  of  my  reach,  when  she  knows  I  am  on  her  track." 

"•  I  will  communicate  with  you,  if  I  see  or  hear  any  tiling  of 
her  or  her  whereabouts ;  I  will  endeavor  to  learn  something 
that  will  help  you.  and,  if  I  succeed,  you  shall  hear  from 
me." 

"  Very  well ;  be  very  secret  about  it,  and  do  not  mention 
my  name  to  any  one  of  your  friends ;  for  they  have  probably 
heard  of  me,  and  all  my  plans  will  be  useless  if  I  am  known. 
My  name  in  company,  and  when  not  alone  with  you,  is  to  be 
Joseph  Longwood,  remember ;  and  now  good-by  until  }'ou 
visit  me  at  32  Putnam  Street. 

Charles  Tremple  walked  rapidly  up  the  street,  while  his 
friend  entered  a  horse-car  (for  you  must  know  it  was  Amer- 
ica), his  face  moody  and  stern,  and  his  bushy,  overhanging 
eyebrows  contracted  into  a  sullen,  dogged  frown.  He  was  so 
absorbed  in  his  thoughts  —  and  they  must  have  been  dark 
indeed,  if  the  face  is  the  index  of  the  mind  —  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  conductor  call  out  "  Putnam  Street,"  until  he  had 
repeated  it  for  the  third  time,  when,  with  a  start,  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  and  left  the  car. 

A  calm,  peaceful  day  in  the  mellow  month  of  October; 
the  trees  are  being  stripped  of  their  beautiful  robes,  and  the 


LORD   CLIFTON.  71 

leafless  branches  are  bending  and  swaying,  as  if  in  grief  over 
their  faded  beauty.  The  leaves  strew  the  ground,  making  a 
sad,  trembling  music,  as  if  in  protest  against  the  cruel  feet 
that  tread  them  down.  "Whispering  leaves,  that  hung  high 
above  our  heads  in  the  gay  fulness  of  summer,  are  clustering 
now  around  our  very  feet,  whirling  before  us,  following  our 
footsteps,  and  flying  we  know  not  whither. 

Nowhere  does  Nature  bestow  her  gifts  more  lavishly  than 
in  the  beautiful  valley  to  which  our  story  leads  us, —  one  of 
the  sweetest  and  most  secluded  spots  upon  which  the  sun 
shines  ;  not  a  cloud  in  the  clear  azure  of  the  sky ;  the  high 
hills,  that  bound  it  on  either  side,  stretch  far  up  as  if  they 
would  reach  the  heavens  ;  the  ground  is  covered  with  brown 
and  russet  leaves,  whose  rustling  is  the  only  sound  that  can 
be  heard.  On  one  side  of  this  valley  the  hills  sloped  down 
gently  so  that  a  horse  could  easily  walk  up  to  a  certain  height, 
but  must  stop  when  there  ;  for  there  was  no  room  to  face  him 
down  again,  and  a  step  further  on  would  dash  him  into  the 
precipice  on  one  side,  or  into  the  valley  on  the  other. 

Upon  this  side  of  the  valley,  high  up  on  one  of  the  hills,  a 
young  man  is  sitting,  idly  gazing  into  the  valley  below.  He 
has  been  reading,  but  has  thrown  his  book  aside  in  apparent 
weariness.  He  is  a  handsome  man,  with  the  listless  manner 
that  betokens  no  occupation  or  business.  This  spot  is  one 
of  his  favorite  haunts  ;  for  he  visits  it  very  often.  While  he  is 
thus  musing,  his  attention  is  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs. 

The  horse  seems  to  have  taken  fright,  and  is  galloping  at  a 
furious  speed  up  the  hill.  A  young  lady  is  clinging  to  the 
saddle,  and  keeping  herself  upon  his  back  by  firmly  holding 
on  to  his  flowing  mane  ;  she  does  not  appear  to  realize  any 
further  danger  than  being  thrown  from  her  position.  The 
horse,  with  his  burden,  comes  bounding  along,  and,  when 
almost  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  his  rider  for  the  first  time  sees 
her  perilous  position.  She  tries  to  check  the  horse's  speed, 


72  LORD    CLIFTON. 

but  in  vain  ;  however  gentle  he  may  be  at  other  times  in  her 
hands,  he  is  beyond  her  control  now.  With  a  shudder  she 
sees  on  one  side  of  her  the  j'awning  precipice,  and  on  the 
other  the  steep,  rocky  side  of  the  hill  leading  to  the  valley. 
Before  she  has  time  to  choose  between  them,  her  horse  is  sud- 
denly caught  by  the  bridle,  and  stopped  with  a  shock  that  lias 
almost  thrown  her  from  her  seat. 

Her  deliverer,  however,  has  not  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
escape  unhurt ;  the  suddenness  with  which  he  grasped  the 
bridle  caused  him  to  stagger,  lose  his  footing,  and  fall  down 
the  rocky  side  of  the  hill.  The  young  lady,  the  same  one 
whom  we  have  seen  in  Egleston  Hall,  dismounts,  and,  patting 
the  horse  gently,  tells  him  to  remain  there  until  she  comes 
back  ;  the  animal  being  quieted,  pricks  up  his  ears,  stretches 
his  neck,  and  neighs  in  answer  to  her  kindness.  Running 
down  the  hill,  she  sees  her  preserver  tying  almost  dead  ;  with 
a  terrible  fear  upon  her,  she  goes  to  the  nearest  cottage  for 
help ;  two  men  at  work  in  the  field  come  at  her  solicitation, 
and  take  him  between  them  into  the  house. 

One  of  the  men  has  gone  for  the  nearest  doctor,  and  the 
other  for  water  at  the  neighboring  spring.  They  bathe  his 
face,  and  the  cooling  water  revives  him ;  he  opens  his  eyes, 
gazes  around,  and  seems  to  recall  what  has  happened ;  he 
smiles  faintly  at  the  }*oung  lady^  who  has  told  him  how  he 
hurt  himself  in  saving  her,  and  he  says,  in  reply  to  her  ques- 
tion, that  he  thinks  he  has  met  with  no  further  injury  than  a 
broken  arm. 

By  this  time  the  doctor  arrives,  examines  him,  and  confirms 
his  own  opinion  about  the  arm.  The  doctor  must  set  the 
arm,  and  he  cannot  be  removed  for  three  hours  after ;  so,  at 
the  young  lady's  request,  he  accepts  her  invitation  to  go 
to  her  home,  his  own  being  too  far  off. 

She  starts  off  immediately,  and  soon  returns  in  an  elegant 
carriage.  She  is  accompanied  by  an  old  man,  whom  she 
addresses  as  James.  The  injured  man,  and  the  doctor  and 


LORD    CLIFTON.  78 

lady,  enter  it,  and  are  driven  away  by  James.  They  stop 
before  a  modest,  unpretentious-looking  house,  between  which 
and  the  carriage  there  is  a  great  contrast.  Going  in,  they 
find  it  neatly  but  not  extravagantly  furnished.  There  he  had 
his  arm  set,  and  he  remained  during  the  evening,  and  was 
taken  home  in  the  carriage  by  James,  who  had  in  the  mean 
time  brought  Miss  Houston's  pony  down  from  the  hill,  where 
lie  was  becoming  restless  at  his  mistress's  absence. 

Miss  Emma  Houston's  deliverer  was  Oscar  Falvey,  the 
only  child  of  a  widowed  mother.  His  father  had  died  only  a 
few  months  before  the  adventure  above  related ;  he  had  left 
his  family  in  affluent  circumstances  ;  and  his  son  carried  on 
the  father's  business,  or,  rather,  employed  others  to  conduct 
it  for  him. 

James  went  every  morning  to  inquire  about  Mr.  Falvey's 
health,  until  he  had  so  far  recovered  that  he  was  able  to  pay 
a  visit  to  Miss  Houston  herself.  Although,  strange  to  say, 
he  had  not  been  asked  to  call  upon  the  family  when  able  to 
do  so,  he  ventured  one  morning  to  present  himself  in  the 
quiet  little  room,  where  *hey  had  taken  him  when  first  he  was 
brought  there  with  his  broken  arm. 

He  did  not  have  long  to  wait  for  her  coming ;  he  heard  a 
light  step  in  the  hall,  and  the  next  instant  Miss  Houston 
stood  before  him. 

' '  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well  after  your  veiy 
narrow  escape,  Mr.  Falvey ;  and  I  am  sure  I  have  reason  to 
be  very  grateful  that  you  have  recovered  so  rapidly,  since 
I  have  been  the  cause  of  your  mishap,"  she  said  quietly, 
almost  gravely. 

"Yes,  the  innocent  cause,"  Ije  replied,  taking  her  hand ; 
"  but  I  have  come,  not  to  hear  any  expressions  of  gratitude 
from  you,  but  to  inquire  how  you  have  sustained  the  shock 
upon  your  own  system.  That  must  be  a  pretty  wild  horse 
you  ride,  Miss  Houston,  is  it  not?" 


74  LORD   CLIFTON, 

"No,"  she  said,  coloring  slightly;  "  he  is  generally  very 
quiet.  I  can  do  almost  what  I  please  with  him ;  but  that 
day  I  turned  towards  the  valley,  and  when  near  there  he  took 
fright  at  something,  and  bounded  up  the  hill  with  such  speed 
that  I  was  obliged  to  hold  him  around  the  neck,  or  be 
thrown  off.  As  for  the  shock,  I  soon  recovered  from  it ;  but 
I  was  greatly  alarmed  for  your  safety." 

They  talked  for  some  time  ;  he  with  a  constraint  he  had 
never  experienced  before  when  talking  to  ladies,  and  she 
glancing  uneasily  from  time  to  time  at  the  door,  as  if  she 
expected  an  unpleasant  intrusion. 

Mr.  Falvey  did  not  remain  long ;  he  cut  his  visit  shorter 
than  he  intended,  owing  to  the  nervonsness  he  had  noticed 
Miss  Houston  display.  When  leaving  her,  she  did  not  ask 
him  to  renew  his  call  at  another  time,  and  he  parted  from  her 
with  the  unpleasant  feeling  that  he  had  intruded. 

"Weeks  passed,  and  he  saw  nothing  of  Miss  Houston.  He 
met  James  frequently,  who,  when  asked  about  his  mistress, 
replied  that  she  was  well,  and  here  his  reference  to  her 
ceased ;  so  the  questioner  soon  learned  that  to  begin  a 
conversation  concerning  her  was  treading  on  dangerous 
ground. 

One  day,  returning  from  the  city,  he  met  her  riding  on  the 
same  horse  which  had  nearly  cost  her  her  life ;  she  bowed 
pleasantly  to  him,  and,  when  he  approached,  offered  him  her 
hand.  She  was  so  gracious  this  time  that  he  ventured  to  call 
again  within  the  ensuing  week.  After  this  he  went  there 
frequently ;  after  each  visit  he  returned  home  utterly  bewil- 
dered by  the  singular  manners  of  the  young  beauty,  who  had 
captivated  him.  He  never  saw  any  one  during  these  visits 
but  Miss  Houston  herself  and  James,  who  alwa}"s  admitted 
him.  Whether  the  family  was  larger  he  did  not  know,  and 
had  no  means  of  finding  out ;  for  those  of  whom  he  inquired 
said  they  were  strangers  in  the  neighborhood,  and  were  very 
reserved,  never  waiting  to  say  more  than  a  hastj*  good- 


LORD    CLIFTON.  7? 

morning  or  good-evening.     No  one  was  ever  seen  to  go  in  or 
go  out,  save  the  old  man  James  and  his  young  mistress. 

Notwithstanding  their  strange  habits  and  peculiar  mode 
of  living,  Oscar  Falvey  continued  to  go  there  regularly ;  he 
knew,  the  first  time  Miss  Houston  had  ever  spoken  to  him, 
that  she  was  a  lady  well  educated  and  refined,  able  to 
converse  upon  almost  any  subject  with  intelligence  and 
propriety.  He  liked  to  be  in  her  company,  and  was  begin- 
ning to  be  more  at  ease  in  her  presence,  though  there  was 
still  an  undefinable  reserve  in  her  words  and  actions,  as 
though  she  was  in  the  habit  of  weighing  every  syllable  before 
speaking. 

It  is  a  year  since  Oscar  Falvey  first  saw  the  beautiful  face 
of  Emma  Houston ;  he  has  grown  to  love  it,  and  to-night 
has  told  his  love  in  all  the  tender  words  that  lovers  use. 
Miss  Houston  raised  her  large,  mournful  eyes  to  his,  after 
his  first  appeal,  and  said,  with  a  trembling  voice, — 

"  Mr.  Falvey,  this  can  never  be ;  we  can  never  be  any 
more  to  each  other  than  we  arc  at  present." 

He  asked  for  her  reason  in  refusing  him  ;  but  she  answered 
vaguely,  and  not  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  He  urged  his 
suit,  saying  that  he  required  nothing  from  her,  no  secret,  no 
knowledge  of  her  former  life ;  that  he  loved  her  passion- 
ately, and  would  sacrfice  his  life  for  her.  She  turned  her 
face  away  at  his  pleading,  and  for  some  moments  remained 
silent ;  turning  to  him  she  said,  sadly, — 

'•  Mr.  Falvey,  if  you  knew  what  you  were  asking,  you 
would  thank  me  sincerely  for  refusing  to  grant  your  request ; 
I  cam"  a  burden  with  me  that  you  could  never  share." 

"  I  could  never  share  it  with  you,  Emma !  I  could  endure 
anything  with  you  at  my  side ;  only  say  that  you  will  be 
mine,  and  all  will  be  well ;  you  need  never  tell  me  what  your 
burden  is.  dear,  unless  you  wish  to  see  how  well  I  can  share 
it  with  you." 


76  LORD    CLIFTON. 

She  accepted  him,  for  she  ardently  loved  him  who  had 
risked  his  life  for  her.  They  were  married  very  quietly,  in 
the  same  room  he  had  first  entered  a  year  ago. 

Emma  Houston  went  with  her  husband  to  his  beautiful 
home,  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  one  she  was  leaving ;  her 
husband  advised  her  to  sell  the  house  she  had  occupied,  and 
take  James  with  her  and  the  other  servants,  whom  he  knew, 
though  he  had  never  seen  them,  must  be  in  the  house  some- 
where. But  she  refused  to  do  so  ;  and  he,  thinking  it  one  of 
the  peculiarities  of  her  disposition,  said  no  more  about  it. 
So  Mrs.  Falve}r  supported  her  old  servants  here,  out  of  the 
fortune  she  possessed  as  Miss  Houston. 

They  were  married  about  four  months  when  Mr.  Falvey's 
mother  was  taken  suddenly  ill ;  it  was  towards  evening,  and 
Mr.  Falvey,  who  was  returning  from  the  city,  was  met  by  a 
messenger,  who  hurriedly  informed  him  of  his  mother's  dan- 
ger ;  he  quickened  his  speed,  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  hear 
her  last  words  ;  she  died  soon  after  of  heart  disease. 

His  wife  was  not  at  home  ;  and  when  he  inquired  for  her  he 
was  told  that  she  had  gone  out  about  two  hours  ago,  and  that 
she  did  so  every  week  on  that  particular  day.  She  returned 
home  soon,  and  was  deeply  grieved  upon  learning  what  had 
happened  during  her  absence.  After  the  funeral,  Mr.  Falvey 
had  his  house  remodelled,  and  had  a  great  many  of  his 
mother's  old-fashioned  notions  done  away  with.  While  the 
workmen  were  thus  engaged,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Falvey  removed 
to  the  latter's  old  home  until  their  house  would  be  fit  for 
occupation.  While  there,  one  morning,  as  he  was  leaving  his 
room  at  the  sound  of  the  breakfast  bell,  he  saw  the  figure  of 
a  man  at  the  end  of  the  corridor ;  at  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps the  figure,  without  turning  his  face,  moved  quickly 
away  ;  he  knew  it  was  some  one  whom  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore, and  the  thought  suddenly  presented  itself  to  him  that  it 
was  in  some  way  connected  with  the  burden  to  which  his  wife 
had  referred  upon  the  night  of  their  betrothal ;  and,  remember- 


LORD   CLIFTON.  77 

ing  his  promise  riot  to  question  her  concerning  it,  he  never 
mentioned  the  circumstance  to  her. 

Emma  Houston  and  Oscar  Falvey  had  been  married  nine 
months, —  nine  short  months  to  him,  filled  with  all  the  joy  and 
peace  of  a  perfect  home  ;  how  he  loved,  on  returning  home 
after  a  busy  day, —  for  he  had  grown  very  attentive  to  busi- 
ness since  his  marriage, —  to  find  a  dear,  gentle,  little 
presence  anxiously  watching  for  him  !  to  see  two  dark,  sadty 
wistful  eyes  brighten  at  his  approach !  and  to  feel  that  a 
strong,  faithful  young  heart  loved  him  with  all  the  devotion  of 
her  youthful  nature. 

But  what  have  we  to  say  of  the  young  wife  Oscar  Falvey 
so  delighted  in?  was  she  happy?  Well,  she  certainly  ap- 
peared to  be  happy  when  her  husband  was  near;  but  it 
seemed  a  forced  pleasure  ;  perhaps  she  was  sacrificing  herself 
nobly,  to  pretend  it ;  but  really  and  truly  happy  she  could  not 
be,  or  else  why  was  she  so  often  gloomy  and  melancholy  when 
he  was  away?  Why  did  she  so  often  come  from  her  own 
room  with  heavy  eyes,  that  told  of  a  tearful  struggle?  why 
did  she  so  often  start  and  turn  deadly  pale  at  the  sound  of 
her  husband's  voice  ?  and  why  did  she  so  often  leave  her  home 
and  remain  awa}r  all  day,  returning  barely  in  time  to  meet  her 
husband  in  her  accustomed  place  ?  The  sequel  will  tell  us  ah1 : 
but,  for  the  present,  we  must  only  follow  at  a  distance  ;  fully 
satisfied  that,  whatever  the  future  will  disclose,  Emma  was 
not  happy. 

So  they  had  been  married  nine  months,  when  one  day,  in 
the  early  part  of  August,  Oscar  was  walking  through  the  city, 
and  he  saw  his  wife  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and 
walking  very  quickly.  He  was  going  in  the  same  direction 
himself,  so  he  quickened  his  steps  to  keep  up  with  her.  She 
stopped  at  the  post-office,  and,  having  completed  her  busi- 
ness, came  out  with  two  letters  in  her  hand,  which  she  care- 
fully put  away  in  her  pocket.  Now,  what  puzzled  Oscar  most 
was,  that,  if  his  wife  had  business  in  the  city,  even  though  it 


78  LORD    CLIFTON. 

was  unknown  to  him,  why  had  she  not  come  in  the  carriage, 
or  even  upon  her  pony,  which  she  managed  so  dexterously  ; 
but  her  motive  in  walking  such  a  distance,  on  so  oppressive  a 
day,  he  could  not  fathom. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Falvey  was  standing  at  the  window, 
watching  for  her  husband's  return ;  she  was  unusually  pale  ; 
ner  face  wore  an  expression  of  the  greatest  anxiety ;  weary 
and  ill  at  ease,  she  watched  and  waited  till  she  saw  him  in  the 
distance  ;  then,  leaving  her  place,  she  descended  to  the  gar- 
den, and  met  him  at  the  gate.  He  looked  at  her  sternly  a 
moment,  for  he  was  beginning  to  suspect  her ;  but  the  sight 
of  her  pale,  mournful  face,  and  the  effort  it  cost  her  to  meet 
him  so  cheerfully,  stifled  his  resentment ;  and,  stooping,  he 
kissed  the  upturned  face,  asking  the  cause  of  its  weary  look. 
Her  eyes  drooped  beneath  his  keen  glance,  and  his  question 
remained  unanswered. 

The  evening  was  too  warm  and  close  to  remain  in-doors, 
so  Oscar  Falvey  went  out  to  stroll  in  the  garden ;  he  was 
walking  up  and  down,  smoking  a  cigar,  when  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  footsteps  on  the  gravel  walk ;  he  came 
hastily  to  the  front  of  the  house  just  in  time  to  see  his  wife, 
who  had  opened  the  door  herself  and  now  stood  upon  the 
step,  take  a  letter  from  a  beggar,  who  withdrew  as  soon  as 
he  had  delivered  it.  The  husband,  though  unobserved,  saw 
it  all,  and,  with  rage  depicted  in  his  countenance,  entered  the 
house,  and  proceeded  to  his  wife's  apartment.  Knocking  at 
the  door,  and  receiving  no  answer,  he  turned  the  handle,  but 
found  it  locked.  He  descended  slowly  to  await  her  appear- 
ance ;  nursing  his  rage,  and  determining  to  ascertain  the 
cause  of  her  strange  conduct. 

She  entered  the  room  in  which  her  husband  sat,  about 
two  hours  after  what  he  had  witnessed.  Rising,  upon  her 
appearance,  he  approached  his  wife,  and  in  stern  tones 
demanded  an  explanation  of  her  conduct. 

"  Oscar,"  she  said,   in    a  pleading  voice,   "  did  you   not 


LOilD    CLIFTON.  79 

promise  me  that  you  would  ask  me  no  questions  concerning 
my  past  life  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  angry  voice  ;  "  but  this 
question  has  no  reference  to  your  past  life.  I  want  to  know 
why  you  walked  to  the  city  post-office  to-day,  and  why  do 
you  have  beggars  coming  to  you  with  letters  ?  I  shall  learn 
the  cause  of  it,  if  not  from  yourself,  by  somo  other  means." 

He  was  enraged  almost  beyond  control  at  the  silence  she 
maintained  after  this  burst  of  anger  on  his  part.  There  she 
sat,  unheedful  of  his  presence,  with  a  dull,  heavy  cloud  upon 
her,  which  her  husband,  as  he  stood  in  his  wounded  pride 
gazing  at  her,  attributed  to  an  indifference  to  his  feelings, 
and  a  determined  persistency  to  deny  him  the  information  he 
demanded. 

At  last  she  spoke,  in  the  same  quiet,  pleading  voice. 

"  Oscar,  I  have  been  true  to  you, — as  true  as  I  have  been 
to  him  for  whom  I  suffer  ;  and  I  will  be  as  true  to  you  forever 
as  I  have  been  during  the  few  short  months  of  our  marriage. 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  cause  of  my  sorrow  yet ;  but  some  day, 
perhaps  not  far  distant,  I  shall  be  able  to  vindicate  myself 
before  you.  But,  oh !  my  husband,  whatever  you  hear 
of  me,  trust  in  my  love  for  you,  and  believe  in  the  heart  that 
would  endure  anything  rather  than  bring  shame  and  disgrace 
upon  }Tour  name  and  honor." 

She  had  risen  during  the  latter  part  of  her  speech,  and, 
before  he  could  detain  her,  she  passed  through  the  door,  and 
had  gone  to  her  own  apartment. 

He  remained  all  night  pacing  the  room  in  a  fretful,  angiy 
mood.  He  believed  one  time  that  she  was  false  to  him  ;  and 
again  his  better  nature  revolted  against  the  thought,  and  he 
felt  he  could  trust  her  to  the  very  end  of  his  life. 

In  the  morning  she  did  not  appear  at  the  breakfast-table  ; 
and  her  husband,  not  having  fully  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  his  passion,  started  for  the  city  without  disturbing  her. 
Coming  home  as  usual  in  the  evening,  he  inquired  for  his 


80  LORD    CLIFTON. 

wife  ;  and,  to  his  alarm,  was  told  that  she  had  not  been  seen 
all  day.  The  servants  had  gone  to  her  room,  and,  receiving 
no  answer  to  their  summons,  had  opened  the  door  by  force, 
and  found  that  it  had  been  unoccupied  during  the  night. 
The  house  and  grounds  were  searched  at  his  bidding ;  but  no 
tidings  of  her  were  found.  Her  own  pony  had  been  taken 
from  the  stable ;  and  the  servants,  when  they  had  learned 
this,  declared  to  one  another  that  she  had  fled ;  that  the}r 
knew  she  was  not  happy,  and  was  always  determined  to  rid 
herself  of  the  husband  she  had  chosen  in  some  ill-advised 
moment. 

Oscar  Falvey  waited  to  hear  nothing  more  than  that  his 
wife  was  missing,  and  that  no  clew  to  her  whereabouts  could 
be  ascertained.  Mounting  his  horse,  he  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Magnolia  Cottage,  and  was  soon  at  the  gate.  Every- 
thing was  orderly  and  quiet,  as  usual.  James  admitted 
him ;  and,  in  breathless  haste,  Oscar  asked  him  if  he  had 
seen  Mrs.  Falvey  that  day.  James  replied  that  he  had  not 
seen  her,  knew  nothing  of  her,  and  was  struck  with  aston- 
ishment when  told  of  her  disappearance.  That  house  and 
grounds  underwent  the  same  search,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Oscar  returned  home  to  consider  what  course  to  pursue  ;  sad 
and  broken-hearted,  he  wandered  from  room  to  room  of  his 
cheerless  home ;  every  method  he  thought  of  to  recover  her 
was  cast  aside  in  despair.  For  a  whole  week  he  was  so  dis- 
tracted with  grief  that  he  never  left  the  house  once,  but 
remained  locked  up  in  his  own  room,  allowing  no  one  to  see 
him  but  his  valet. 

At  the  end  of  that  time,  his  dormant  energies  were  called 
into  action.  A  tall,  dark  man  asked  to  see  Mr.  Falvey,  who 
positively  refused  to  speak  with  him ;  but,  upon  his  visitor's 
determined  resolution  not  to  leave  the  house  until  he  had 
accomplished  his  object,  Mr.  Falvey  descended  to  the  parlor, 
where  he  was  confronted  by  the  man,  who  stated  that  his 
business  was  of  an  official  nature. 


LORD    CLIFTON.  81 

"I  am,"  said  he,  "  an  English  detective  ;  I  have  authority 
to  search  for  an  English  prisoner,  whom  I  have  reasoii  to 
believe  you  are  harboring  in  }*our  house." 

' '  An  English  prisoner  in  my  house  !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Falvey,  in  an  excited  voice ;  ' '  there  is  no  such  person 
here:  3'ou  may  search  for  j-ourself;  but  will  you  answer  a 
few  questions  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  my  position  will  allow  me  I  am  willing  to 
answer  you." 

"  Is  the  prisoner  whom  you  seek  a  man  or  a  woman?  and 
why  do  you  suspect  that  my  house  is  the  place  of  conceal- 
ment?" 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  detective,  coming  closer  to  him, 
"  I  have  traced  him  here.  There  is  a  house  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant from  here  which  I  have  already  searched ;  the  person  I 
am  looking  for  is  not  there,  and  I  am  disposed  to  think  that 
he  is  hidden  somewhere  here." 

' '  But  you  have  not  told  me  who  the  person  is." 

"  It  is  Lord  Clifton.  His  daughter,  I  understand,  is  your 
wife.  Now,  sir,  will  you  please  permit  me  to  proceed  to  do 
my  duty  ?  " 

"  You  may  search  my  house,"  said  Mr.  Falvey,  "  since 
the  law  commands  it ;  but  such  a  man  was  never  under  my 
roof;"  and,  stepping  aside,  he  motioned  the  detective  to 
begin  his  work. 

Oscar  walked  restlessly  up  and  down  the  parlor  during  the 
search. 

What  fearful  crime  had  his  wife's  father  been  guilty 
of?  and  how,  during  the  years  he  had  known  her,  had  she 
been  able  to  keep  the  secret  from  him?  Where  was  she 
now?  and  did  she  know  of  her  clanger, — his  faithful,  brave- 
hearted  little  wife?  These  were  his  thoughts,  and  her  last 
words  to  him,  "Oh!  my  husband,  whatever  you  hear  of 
me,  trust  in  my  love  for  you,  and  believe  in  the  heart  that 
would  endure  anything  rather  than  bring  shame  and  disgrace 

4* 


82  LORD    CLIFTON. 

on  your  name  and  honor,"  were  wringing  his  heart  in 
misery. 

The  detective  came  back,  after  as  useless  a  search  as  his 
last  had  been.  He  would  have  asked  a  few  questions  ;  but 
Mr.  Falvey  told  him  that  he  never  heard  anything  of  the 
case  ;  that  his  wife  had  gone,  he  knew  not  whither ;  and  that 
he  positively  declined  to  answer  questions  concerning  his  own 
family.  Much  vexed  and  disappointed,  the  detective  left 
him,  and  Oscar  Falvey  heard,  a  few  weeks  after,  that  he  had 
gone  to  England. 

Two  weeks  after  his  wife's  disappearance,  Mr.  Falvey 
received  a  letter  from  James,  who  said  it  had  been  left  in 
his  possession,  to  be  delivered  to  him  when  his  wife  was  in  a 
place  of  safety.  The  letter  ran  thus  : — 

"Mr  DEAR  OSCAR, — Forgive  me  for  the  pain  I  have 
caused  you  ;  I  am  very  sorry  to  •  give  you  so  much  trouble  ; 
if  I  could  at  present  tell  you  the  reasons  for  my  strange 
conduct,  I  would  gladly  do  so ;  but  my  lips  are  sealed,  and 
must  remain  so  until  Heaven  in  its  mercy  will  have  pity 
upon  me. 

"  My  heart  is  breaking  at  this  moment  for  the  misery  I 
am  bringing  upon  you.  Yet  I  have  no  power  to  prevent  it ; 
for  a  life  as  dear  to  me  as  yours,  my  husband,  depends  upon 
the  course  I  must  pursue. 

"Do  not  try  to  learn  my  whereabouts,  dear  Oscar;  and, 
above  all,  do  not  undertake  any  means  of  finding  me  ;  it 
would  only  cause  greater  sorrow  and  disappointment.  But 
wait  patiently — as.  Heaven  knows,  I  am  waiting  and  praying — 
until  time  reveals  it  all.  When  that  happy  day  comes, — God 
grant  it  may  bo  soon ! — perhaps  you  will  regain  your  old 
faith  in  me,  and  we  will  be  as  happy  as  we  have  been  in  each 
other's  love  and  confidence  once  more. 

1 '  I  bag  3'our  forgiveness  again,  dear  husband  ;  and  again 
my  heart  pleads  for  one  kind,  indulgent  remembrance  from 
3'our  true,  noble,  and  generous  heart.  Trust  me,  my  own 
dear  Oscar,  and  believe  me  to  be  ever, 

"  Your  loving,  affectionate  wife, 

"  EMMA  FALVEY." 


LORD    CLIFTON.  83 

When  he  had  finished  reading  it,  he  folded  it,  and,  with  a 
tender  memory  struggling  in  his  breast,  pressed  it  passion- 
ately to  his  lips.  He  made  a  promise  within  himself  that  he 
would  never  for  one  moment  question  the  motives  of  his 
wife  ;  but  he  would  cherish  her  memory  until,  as  she  had  said 
herself,  they  would  be  happy  in  each  other's  love  and  confi- 
dence once  more. 

"We  will  leave  Oscar  Falvey  now,  still  residing  in  his  beau- 
tiful home,  still  hoping  and  praying  for  the  return  of  the 
dear  presence  that  was  life  and  joy  to  him ;  and  we  will 
cross  over  to  Scotland,  where  we  will  learn  something  of 
Emma  Falvey's  flight. 

It  is  a  wild  night:  the  wind  howls  a  ghostly  sonnet 
through  the  huge  trees  surrounding  Clifton  Castle  ;  the  driv- 
ing rain  beats  loudly  against  the  window-panes.  In  one 
of  the  elegantly  furnished  apartments  of  the  castle,  a  sick 
man  turns  uneasily  on  his  bed ;  as  the  wind  rises,  and  the 
naked  branches  of  the  trees  rattle  against  the  windows, 
he  starts,  raises  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and  gazes  fiercely 
around.  The  shadows  which  the  large,  heavy  furniture  casts 
upon  the  walls  seem  to  terrify  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
covers  his  eyes  with  his  disengaged  arm,  and,  remaining  thus 
until  exhausted,  he  falls  back  heavily  upon  the  bed.  Pres- 
ently the  door  opens,  and  a  woman  enters  the  room.  At  the 
sound  of  the  step,  the  man  turns,  and  looks  fixedly  at  her 
for  a  few  moments.  Speaking  to  him  in  a  gentle  voice,  she 
says,— 

"You  have  rested  well  during  the  last  hour,  I  think,  and 
must  feel  a  little  better  after  it." 

"  Rest !  "  he  replied,  in  a  hard,  bitter  tone.  "  Upon  such 
a  night  as  this !  there  is  no  rest  or  hope  of  rest  for  me. 
O  God !  "  he  exclaimed  wilcll}*,  ' '  the  agony  of  the  last  hour ; 
my  whole  life  lived  over  again  ;  my  crime  forever  before  me, 
and  the  punishment  of  it  awaiting  me  !  " 

His  nurse,  for  such  she  was,  waited  until  his  excitement 


84  LORD    CLIFTON. 

had  somewhat  ceased ;  then  offered  him  some  brand}*  and 
water,  which  he  drank  with  a  great  deal  of  pain.  Going 
into  the  adjoining  room,  the  nurse  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees,  and,  raising  her  hands  in  suppli cation,  cried, — 

"O  Father  of  mercy!  have  pity  upon  him;  convert  him 
ere  it  be  too  late  ;  turn  off  thy  anger  from  him,  and  blot  out 
his  sins.  Show  us  all  the  beauty  of  thy  mercy,  O  God 
of  love !  and  give  us  all  thy  strengthening  help,  that  we 
may  bear  all  things  for  the  love  of  thee,  and  as  a  reward  be 
united  to  thee  throughout  an  eternity  of  joy  and  peace." 

Approaching  the  bed  once  more,  she  stooped  over  the 
prostrate  man,  and  asked  him  if  the  storm  had  disturbed 
him.  The  question  brought  him  back  again  to  the  same 
excitement,  as  he  answered, — 

"  Yes :  it  reminds  me  of  a  night,  years  ago,  when  I  com- 
mitted a  deed  that  Heaven  will  never  forgive." 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  his  gentle  nurse  ;  "there  are  no  sins 
that  Heaven  will  not  forgive,  even  if  they  are  as  red  as 
blood,  or  as  numerous  as  the  sands  on  the  seashore." 

"Never,  never;  my  portion  is  an  endless  eternity  of 
misery  ;  it  is  just,  and  I  expect  nothing  but  justice." 

' '  Ah  ! "  was  the  answer ;  ' '  did  not  Jesus  pardon  the  peni- 
tent thief  on  the  cross,  even  at  the  last  moment  ?  Your  sins 
are  nothing  to  his  ;  and  if  you  repent,  as  he  did,  even  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  you  too  will  be  with  Him  in  paradise.  His 
mercy  is  above  all  his  works." 

The  wind  rose  more  and  more,  and  moaned  so  dismally 
that  the  man,  in  an  agony  of  terror,  clutched  the  bedclothes 
and  screamed. 

' '  I  will  confess ;  I  will  make  restitution.  Only  have 
mere}7  on  me,  thou  God  of  sinners." 

The  nurse,  who  had  grown  very  pale,  soothed  him,  and  in 
a  few  moments  he  was  calm  again. 

' '  I  want  you  to  stay  with  me  always.  Do  not  leave  me 
when  you  think  I  am  sleeping  ;  for  I  need  you  to  console  me 


LORD    CLIFTON.  85 

now,  more  than  ever.  I  know  you,  though  you  think  I  do 
not,  '  Cousin  Ethel.'  You  have  come  to  try  to  free  }*our 
father  from  the  foul  suspicion  that  rests  upon  him,  and  to- 
night, in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  it  shall  be  done." 

Kneeling  beside  the  bed,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  burst  into  tears.  Then,  thanking  him  upon  her  knees, 
she  told  him  that  she  would  remain  near  him  until  the  end, 
and  that  all  his  former  life  would  be  forgotten  in  the  grateful 
remembrance  she  would  always  preserve  of  his  last,  good  act 
upon  earth. 

That  same  night  there  stood  a  doctor,  a  clergyman,  and 
the  nurse  around  the  bed  of  the  dying  man,  while  a  fourth 
wrote  at  a  small  table  the  following  :  — 

"  I,  Royal  Clifton,  am  the  instigator  of  the  murder  of  Lord 
John  Clifton,  of  Clifton  Castle,  Scotland.  Five  years  ago, 
on  the  twelfth  of  February,  18 — ,  I  paid  an  Italian  to  take 
the  life  of  my  uncle ;  this  man,  who  has  since  died,  was 
Julian  Moriana :  he  committed  the  deed  with  a  pistol, 
escaped,  and  fled  to  his  native  county.  No  suspicion  was 
attached  to  me  ;  for  I  had  joined  my  regiment  the  day  before, 
after  giving  my  servant  instructions  how  to  commit  the  mur- 
der. The  suspicion  has  since  rested  upon  the  son  of  the 
murdered  man  ;  and  here  I  swear,  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses, that  he  never  did  the  deed,  that  I  alone  am  guilty  of 
the  death  of  Lord  John  Clifton." 

Lord  John  Clifton,  on  the  night  he  was  murdered,  sat  in 
his  study ;  he  was  thinking  over  the  interview  between  him- 
self and  his  son  the  night  before.  They  had  had  angry 
words,  as  they  usually  did  when  they  met.  Lord  John's  son 
had  married  a  lady  of  his  own  choosing,  instead  of  the  one 
his  father  had  chosen  for  him,  and  the  old  man's  very  irasci- 
ble temper  never  allowed  him  to  meet  his  son  without  allud- 
ing to  his  disobedience.  Although  the  affair  happened 
twenty  years  before,  yet  the  father  remembered  it  as  though 
it  had  been  but  a  few  days  ago.  The  conversation  between 


86  LORD    CLIFTON. 

them  ended  angrily ;  and  Royal  Clifton,  who  was  to  leave  his 
uncle's  house  that  night,  conceived  the  design  of  murdering 
the  old  lord,  having  the  son  suspected,  and  himself  become  the 
lord  of  Clifton  Castle  when  the  son  should  pay  the  penalty 
of  his  supposed  crime. 

The  son  was  believed  to  be  guilty  of  the  atrocious  crime, 
was  arrested,  and,  in  spite  of  his  former  blameless  life  and 
the  able  counsel  enlisted  in  his  behalf,  he  was  sentenced  to 
be  hanged  a  year  after  the  trial. 

His  wife  died  within  the  year,  and  his  only  daughter,  then 
eighteen  years  old,  was  allowed  to  remain  almost  constantly 
beside  her  father ;  she  was  admitted  to  the  prison  at  any 
hour,  and  she  made  good  use  of  the  privileges  granted  to  her. 

It  was  the  night  before  her  father  was  to  be  executed ;  she 
had  gone  to  the  prison  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  left  it  late 
at  night ;  she  passed  the  keeper  quickly,  with  her  veil  drawn 
closely  over  her  face,  and  her  head  bent  low.  He  did  not, 
as  was  his  usual  custom,  address  her  ;  her  grief  bade  him  be 
silent ;  and,  opening  the  gate  quietly,  he  let  her  pass  out  in 
peace. 

The  next  morning  the  warden  entered  the  cell  to  help  the 
doomed  man  to  prepare  for  execution.  What  was  his  sur- 
prise to  see  standing  before  him  Lady  Ethel  Clifton,  disguised 
as  her  father.  The  news  of  Lord  Clifton's  escape  soon 
spread.  Officers  were  sent  in  search  of  him  immediately ; 
but  they  never  found  him.  He  had  escaped  to  America  with 
his  faithful  servant  James,  and  there  he  was  joined  by  his 
daughter  a  year  after,  who  had  been  released  from  prison  by 
the  influence  of  friends.  She  was  at  liberty,  but  was  so  well 
watched  that  she  was  unable  to  leave  Scotland  without  detec- 
tion, until  about  a  3*ear  had  elapsed. 

Her  hand  was  solicited  in  marriage  by  her  cousin,  Roj'al 
Clifton,  who  had  possession  of  his  uncle's  estates.  But  she 
declined  his  offer,  always  feeling  confident  that  he  had  a  hand 
in  her  grandfather's  death ;  she  knew  him  to  be  a  dissipated, 


LORD    CLIFTON.  87 

rapacious  worldling,  who  owed  every  privilege  he  possessed 
to  the  goodness  and  generosity  of  his  relatives  ;  having  no 
positive  proof  of  her  suspicion,  she  never  dared  to  make  it 
known. 

When  she  joined  her  father  in  America,  they  lived,  as  we 
have  seen,  very  privately,  with  their  two  faithful  servants 
(James  and  his  wife) ,  who  volunteered  their  services.  Here 
she  lived  in  perpetual  fear,  but  still  in  safety,  until  the  morn- 
ing we  first  made  her  acquaintance  at  Mr.  Mosure's  exhibi- 
tion. Then  she  saw  Henry  Faulkner,  and  she  knew  at  once 
that  he  was  in  search  of  her  father.  Now  she  was  again  in 
peril ;  but  she  vowed  in  her  heart  that  her  father  would  never 
fall  into  his  hands.  Living  more  secluded  than  ever,  and 
keeping  a  careful  watch  around  her,  she  managed  to  avoid  a 
second  meeting  by  the  strange  adventure  which  introduced  us 
to  Mr.  Oscar  Falvey. 

Emma  Houston,  as  she  was  known  in  her  new  home,  had 
not  left  the  house  for  weeks.  She  was  tired  of  struggling 
against  the  fear  that  was  ever  upon  her,  and  the  new  dread 
now  at  her  heart  made  her  ill  and  gloomy.  She  thought 
to  drive  it  off  by  a  ride  in  the  open  air  upon  her  favorite 
pony ;  as  she  was  coming  slowly  home,  after  a  long  ride, 
she  saw  upon  a  side  street  that  she  passed  the  same  dark 
face  that  she  had  encountered  at  Mr.  Mosure's.  The  man  was 
looking  earnestly  at  something  in  his  hand,  and  did  not  see  her. 
Quickening  her  speed,  she  turned  her  horse's  head  toward 
the  valley  we  have  spoken  of  before  ;  but  the  animal,  fright- 
ened by  her  sudden  haste,  stumbled,  and  wildly  galloped  up 
the  hill,  where  he  was  stopped  in  his  perilous  course. 

Emma  told  nothing  of  this  to  her  father ;  but  put  James 
upon  his  guard  lest  he  might  meet  him  too,  and  not  be  able  to 
avoid  his  notice.  They  were  enabled  to  live  comfortably  by 
the  fortune  her  father  had  accumulated  in  Scotland.  They 
were  also  kept  acquainted  with  all  that  happened  to  their 
kinsman  and  his  affairs  ;  and  the  letters  that  Mr.  Falvey  had 


88  LORD    CLIFTON. 

seen  his  wife  receive  from  the  post-office  contained  the  intel- 
ligence that  a  detective  had  been  sent  in  search  of  her,  and 
that  she  must  leave  her  present  home  immediately.  She 
knew  all  this  before,  and  had  arranged  for  a  flight  that  very 
evening. 

She  did  not  know  how  near  she  had  been  to  the  very  thing 
she  was  endeavoring  to  escape.  She  was  standing  next  to 
the  friend  that  Faulkner  had  met  in  Egleston  Hall,  Tremple. 
He  knew  her,  saw  her  receive  her  letters,  and  followed  her  to 
her  own  door.  He  had  learned  the  facts  of  the  case  from 
Faulkner ;  and  the  daring  spirit  she  had  shown  in  aiding  her 
father  to  escape  from  prison  so  touched  the  young  man's  bet- 
ter nature  that  he  resolved  never  to  let  Faulkner  know  what 
he  had  seen  ;  but,  if  possible,  to  prevent  him  from  discover- 
ing her. 

After  the  flight,  Emma  and  her  father  travelled  from  coun- 
try to  country ;  from  America  to  Europe,  then  back  again  to 
America,  where  in  St.  Louis  she  was  apprised  of  Royal  Clif- 
ton's illness.  He  had  been  thrown  from  his  horse,  and  re- 
ceived injuries  which  would  prove  fatal.  Immediately  she 
set  out  for  Scotland,  going  as  nurse  to  her  cousin,  and  gain- 
ing the  object  to  which  her  whole  life  was  devoted. 

Royal  Clifton  died  a  week  after  his  final  act  of  justice,  and 
Lady  Ethel  Houston  Clifton  saw  her  father  master  of  Clifton 
Castle.  She  returned  to  America  a  few  months  after,  with 
her  husband,  who  had  been  informed  of  the  change  of  affairs, 
and  had  gone  to  Scotland  to  join  his  wife  after  two  years  of 
painful  separation. 


BRUNO'S   FIDELITY. 


ABOUT  two  miles  from  the  pleasant  village  of  A stands 

an  old-fashioned  house,  attached  to  which  is  a  well-cultivated 
farm.  This  is  the  property  of  George  Bond,  a  well-to-do 
blacksmith.  Fronting  the  house  is  a  pleasant  little  garden, 
in  the  centre  of  which  stands  a  granite  monument,  surrounded 
by  an  iron  railing.  This  was  erected  in  memory  of  a  faithful 
dog,  and  placed  there  by  the  hands  of  his  master.  Upon  it 
is  written  the  following  :  — 

"  Here  lies  Bruno,  a  faithful  friend,  that  saved  his  master's 
life." 

The  stor}-  runs  thus :  At  the  period  of  which  we  write, 
this  part  of  the  country  was  thinly  populated,  the  houses 
being  at  least  a  mile  apart.  Mr.  Bond  was  the  only  black- 
smith within  miles  of  his  surroundings.  He  was  very  pros- 
perous in  business,  and  had  the  reputation  of  having  con- 
siderable money.  One  night  he  was  called  to  his  brother's 
bedside  to  attend  his  last  moments  ;  promising  his  wife  to 
return  at  an  early  hour,  he  started  for  the  house,  which  was 
two  hours'  walk  from  .his  own.  His  wife  sat  up  to  wait  for 
him,  and,  after  the  clock  had  struck  eleven,  became  seriously 
alarmed  at  her  husband's  absence. 

A  little  later  she  heard  loud  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
some  one  demanded  admittance. 

"Is  it  you,  George?"  she  inquired  from  within. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer. 


90  BRUNO'S 

When  she  unbolted  the  door,  it  was  pushed  rudely  open, 
and  she  was  confronted  by  a  stranger.  Her  terror  can  better 
be  imagined  than  described. 

"I  see,"  said  he,  "that  3*011  are  a  little  annoyed  at  my 
presence ;  if  convenient,  I  would  have  been  here  sooner ;  I 
will  not  long  intrude  upon  you,  if  you  comply  with  my  re- 
quest." 

Mrs.  Bond  guessed  at  once  that  his  intention  was  robbery. 
Mustering  courage,  she  asked,  — 

"  Sir,  what  is  your  business  with  me?  " 

"  My  business  is  easily  told,"  he  replied:  "  I  want  your 
money." 

"  I  have  none  to  give  you." 

"Then  your  husband  has,  and  you  know  where  it  is; 
you  had  better  deliver  it  to  me  at  once,  for  I  will  have 
it." 

"  If  it  is  only  money  you  want,  you  shall  have  it,"  said 
she,  stepping  into  the  adjoining  room  ;  before  he  had  time  to 
follow  her,  she  had  closed  and  bolted  the  door  behind  her. 
He  made  an  attempt  to  break  open  the  door,  but  failed.  The 
noise  awoke  her  two-year-old  baby,  who  was  sleeping  in  the 
room  she  had  left. 

"  I  shall  murder  your  child,  or  set  the  house  on  fire,  if  you 
do  not  open  that  door  and  give  me  money,"  said  he,  in  an 
augrj'  voice. 

Her  terror  was  increasing.  What  would  she  do?  By 
opening  the  door  she  might  lose  her  own  life ;  and  yet  she 
must  save  her  child. 

The  burglar  had  in  the  mean  time  walked  to  the  cradle, 
and  was  stooping  to  lift  the  child,  when  Bruno,  the  watch- 
dog, seized  him  b}-  the  throat,  and  held  him  firmly.  In  a 
much  shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Mrs.  Bond  had 
resolved,  even  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life,  to  save  that  of 
her  child  ;  and,  hastily  taking  her  husband's  pistol  from  the 


BKO'O'S    FIDELITY.  91 

drawer  wher^'  it  was  usually  kept,  she  quietly  unbolted  the 
door,  and,  slipping  into  the  room,  took  deliberate  aim  and 
ehot  h'.m.  He  attempted  to  come  nearer  to  her,  staggered, 
and  fell  almost  at  her  feet.  She  was  somewhat  alarmed, 
fearing  that  she  had  killed  him  ;  but,  upon  closer  exr$nina- 
tion,  she  ascertained  that  he  was  only  wounded.  Leaving 
him  as  he  fell,  she  called  Bruno ;  and,  pushing  him  into  the 
road,  told  him  to  bring  his  master. 

Bruno,  knowing  the  neighborhood  as  well  as  his  master, 
went  directly  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Bond's  brother.  Upon 
reaching  it,  he  barked  loudly  at  the  door,  and,  when  it  was 
opsned,  rushed  to  his  master.  When  Mr.  Bond  saw  Bruno 
spattered  with  mud  and  panting  for  breath,  he  knew  that 
something  had  happened.  He  followed  Bruno  immediately. 
Almost  crazed  with  fear,  he  arrived  at  his  home  in  an  in- 
credibly short  space  of  tune. 

Entering  the  house,  the  first  sight  that  met  his  gaze  was 
the  body  of  the  burglar.  He  did  not  wait  to  examine  it,  but 
called  wildly  on  his  wife ;  who  answered  at  once,  assuring 
him  that  they  were  safe.  She  related  what  had  happened, 
and  together  they  went  to  see  how  seriously  the  man  had 
been  wounded.  What  was  Mr.  Bond's  surprise,  on  turning 
over  the  body,  to  discover  that  the  face  was  that  of  one  of 
his  former  workmen  !  The  wound  was  dangerous,  but  not 
fatal.  The  authorities  being  notified,  the  man  was  removed. 
When  he  had  sufficiently  recovered,  he  was  tried,  and  con- 
victed of  robbery,  with  intent  to  kill,  and  was  sentenced  to 
twenty  years'  imprisonment ;  but  he  died  before  the  term 
expired. 

Bruno  attached  himself  to  the  child  ;  and  as  the  boy  grew 
older,  and  learned  the  story  of  Bruno's  fidelity,  he  became  a 
faithful  friend  to  his  preserver. 

Bruno  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  and  died  loved  and  regret- 
ted by  the  whole  neighborhood.  He  was  buried  in  the  garden, 


92  BRUNO'S  FIDELITY. 

and  Mr.  Bond  had  the  tablet  above  mentioned  erected  in  his 
memory. 

"  When  some  proud  son  of  man  returns  to  earth. 
Unknown  to  glory,  but  upheld  by  birth, 
The  sculptor's  art  exalts  the  pomp  of  woe, 
The  storied  urn  records  who  rests  below  ; 
When  all  is  done,  upon  the  tomb  is  seen, 
Not  what  he  was,  but  what  he  should  bave  been ; 
But  the  poor  dog,  in  life  the  firmest  friend, 
The  first  to  welcome,  foremost  to  defend, 
Whose  honest  heart  is  still  his  master's  own,  — 
Who  labors,  fights,  lives,  breathes,  lor  him  alone,  — 
Unhonored  falls,  unnoticed  all  his  worth, 
Denied  in  heaven  the  soul  he  held  on  earth. 
While  man,  vain  insect !  hopes  to  be  forgiven, 
And  claims  himself  a  sole  exclusive  heaven. 

0  man !  thou  leeble  tenant  of  an  hour, 
Debased  by  slavery,  corrupt  by  power, 

Who  knows  thee  well  must  quit  thee  with  disgust. 

Degraded  mass  of  animated  dust ! 

Thy  love  is  lust ;  thy  friendship,  all  a  heat ; 

Thy  smile,  hypocrisy ;  thy  words,  deceit ! 

By  nature  vile,  ennobled  but,  by  name ; 

Each  kindred  brute  might  bid  thee  blush  for  shame. 

Ye  who  perchance  behold  this  simple  urn, 

Pass  on  :  it  honors  none  you  wish  to  mourn. 

To  mark  a  friend's  remains  these  stones  arise: 

1  never  knew  but  one,  —  and  here  he  lies  " 


LOTTIE  ELLIS'S  PERIL. 


THE  sun  sank  low  behind  the  hills,  ornamenting  the  west- 
ern sky  with  its  gorgeous  colors  of  purple  and  gold.  Under 
an  old  elm-tree  sat  two  young  girls, — Lottie  Ellis,  and  her 
friend,  Julia  Ivory.  The  former  was  a  blonde,  with  golden 
tresses  and  dark  blue  eyes.  She  was  j'oung  and  fair:  no 
earth!}'  sorrow  had  yet  dimmed  the  lustre  of  the  bright,  spark- 
ling eyes,  or  furrowed  the  smoothness  of  the  pure,  white  brow. 
She  had  a  merry  laugh,  and  a  sweet,  gentle  voice,  which  was 
often  heard,  as  she  glided  from  room  to  room  of  the  old  farm- 
house. Lottie  Ellis  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  rich  farmer, 
the  idol  of  her  parents  and  brothers,  and  a  universal  favorite 
with  all  who  knew  her.  Her  parents  had  bright  anticipations 
for  their  only  daughter,  and  deemed  none  of  their  neighbors 
or  acquaintances  worthy  of  possessing  her  as  a  wife  :  a  wealthy 
gentleman,  of  superior  education  and  of  high  social  standing, 
must  be  the  one  who  could  woo  and  win  their  treasure. 

On  this  evening,  Lottie  was  unusually  serious ;  her  face 
wore  an  expression  of  anxiety,  as  she  watched  the  huge  clouds 
break  into  various  shapes.  The  two  girls  had  come  out 
to  see  the  sun  set.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely  evenings  in 
June,  calm  and  peaceful,  when  the  earth  seems  rejoicing  at 
the  first  glad  month  of  summer.  The  musicians  of  the  forest 
had  already  sought  their  repose ;  and  the  gentle  zephyr, 
rustling  among  the  leaves,  was  the  only  sound  that  could  be 
heard^ 

The  shades  of  night  were  gathering,  and  the  young  girls 


94  LOTTIE    ELLIS'S    PERIL. 

were  about  to  retrace  their  steps,  though  Lottie  was  in  no 
hurry  to  leave  the  spot ;  but  her  friend  remarked  that  the  dew 
was  heavy,  and,  if  they  lingered  out-doors,  they  might  take 
cold.  The  approach  of  a  horse  and  rider  attracted  their 
attention.  The  horse  appeared  stubborn  and  wild. 

"See,  Julia!"  said  Lottie;  "  the  horse  will  surely  throw 
him  off." 

The  next  instant  she  heard  her  father  crying  out  to  one  of 
the  men  to  come  at  once  ;  then  she  saw  the  horse,  his  bridle 
hanging  loose,  gallop  off  without  his  rider.  Mr.  Ellis  beheld 
the  accident,  and  immediately  hastened  to  his  assistance. 
The  stranger  lay  upon  the  ground,  where  he  had  been  thrown 
by  his  horse,  in  an  unconscious  condition.  He  appeared  to 
be  much  hurt,  and  was  carried  into  Farmer  Ellis's  house. 
The  girls  followed,  offering  every  assistance  in  their  power. 
They  were  much  alarmed,  and  feared  he  would  not  recover. 

Tom  was  despatched  at  once  for  the  village  doctor,  who 
came  with  the  greatest  speed.  The  man  soon  recovered  con- 
sciousness ;  the  doctor  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  he  suffered 
no  injuries,  with  the  exception  of  a  slight  sprain  in  the  ankle  ; 
yet  he  gave  strict  orders  that  he  was  to  be  kept  perfectly 
quiet,  and  not  moved,  if  possible.  He  appeared  by  his  dress 
and  manner  to  be  a  gentleman  of  wealth.  The  hospitable 
farmer  and  his  family  showed  him  great  attention  ;  and  Dr. 
Jones  called  every  day,  for  a  week.  MA  Jackson  (for  such 
was  the  stranger's  name)  paid  the  doctor  liberally  for  his  ser- 
vices, and  offered  to  do  the  same  by  Mrs.  Ellis ;  but  she 
would  not  accept  it :  she  told  him  that  she  was  only  too 
happy  to  be  of  service  to  him,  and  was  very  glad  that  he  had 
recovered  from  his  injury  so  soon. 

His  flattering  speech  and  insinuating  manners  made  the 
simple-hearted  farmer  and  his  wife  imagine  that  he  was  a 
parson  of  distinction,  and  just  the  one  fitted  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  their  Lottie.  So,  when  Mr.  Jackson  was  bidding 
the  family  farewell,  they  did  not  forget  to  tell  him  to  call  upon 


LOTTIE    ELLIS'S    PERIL.  95. 

them,  whenever  he  was  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  neither  did 
he  forget  to  respond  to  the  invitation. 

For  the  following  six  months  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  at 
the  farm,  always  playing  the  gentleman.  He  represented  to 
the  family  that  he  often  travelled  around,  to  break  che  monot- 
ony of  his  life  ;  that  he  was  an  only  child,  upon  whom  his 
parents  lavished  wealth  untold ;  and  that,  having  nothing  to 
take  up  his  time  or  attention,  he  frequently  went  on  long  ex- 
cursions, to  visit  places  he  had  heard  about.  All  but  Lottie 
believed  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  She  felt  him  to  be  a  de- 
ceiver ;  and,  whilst  he  was  gaining  day  by  day  in  the  good 
opinions  of  her  parents  and  brothers,  the  sight  of  him  was 
growing  odious  to  her. 

She  spoke  slightingly  and  disrespectfully  of  him  to  her 
parents ;  but  her  words  were  unheeded.  They  told  her  she- 
must  look  favorably  upon  him,  and,  whenever  he  visited  them, 
treat  him  with  the  honor  becoming  his  station.  It  was  obedi- 
ence to  their  commands  that  made  her  barely  able  to  tolerate 
him. 

It  was  Lottie's  eighteenth  birthday :  and,  in  honor  of  the 
event,  Mr.  Ellis  gave  a  grand  part}* :  she  received  a  number 
of  costty  presents  from  her  father  and  friends.  Among  the, 
guests  was  Mr.  Jackson,  whose  eyes  followed  Lottie  wher- 
ever she  went :  when  she  thought  him  far  off,  he  would  be 
standing  beside  her.  She  avoided  him  as  much  as  she  possi- 
bly could ;  whenever  she  met  him.  a  cold  shudder  ran  through 
her  frame,  and  she  could  detect  by  his  change  of  counte- 
nance that  he  noticed  her  repugnance  to  him. 

Lottie  Ellis  had  always  been  admired  for  her  beautiful  face 
and  graceful  form  ;  but  this  evening  she  appeared  more  charm- 
ing than  ever.  The  golden  curls  were  drawn  back  from  the 
f.iir  forehead,  and  hung  like  a  veil  over  the  graceful  shoulders. 
She  was  surrounded  by  her  gay  young  friends  ;  yet  she  did 
not  seem  as  happy  as  usual.  She  endeavored  to  overcome 
the  unpleasant  feelings  which  haunted  her  during  the  evening  • 


96  LOTTIE    ELUS'S    PERIL. 

but  all  her  efforts  were  in  vain.  An  ordinary  observer  could 
easily  detect  a  restlessness  and  anxiety  in  her  manner,  alto- 
gether foreign  to  the  buoyant  spirits  which  had  made  her  an 
especial  favorite  in  every  company.  Many  envied  her  her 
rich  suitor,  and  alread}'  began  to  accuse  her  of  being  proud 
and  dignified  of  late. 

The  party  broke  up  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  All 
the  guests  had  spent  a  delightful  evening ;  but  Lottie,  for 
whom  the  party  had  been  given,  often  wished  during  it  that 
the  hour  of  separation  had  come.  Some  of  those  who  lived 
at  a  great  distance  from  the  farm  remained  until  morning. 

The  festivity  was  over ;  all  was  quiet ;  slumber  had  suc- 
ceeded the  noise  and  gayety.  Lottie  tried  hard  to  sleep,  but 
could  not ;  she  tossed  restlessly  upon  her  pillow,  unable  to 
compose  her  thoughts,  or  to  keep  her  imagination  from  pict- 
uring wild  and  terrible  scenes.  She  was  upon  the  point  of 
getting  up  to  lock  her  door, — all  the  doors  in  the  house  were 
usually  left  open, — when  shs  haard  a  footstep  upon  the  stairs  ; 
she  could  tell  by  the  sound  that  the  person  was  endeavoring 
to  ascend  the  stairs  without  making  an}'  noise.  One  of  the 
boards  creaked,  and  a  muttered  curse  followed.  Lottie's 
heart  beat  fast,  as  she  laid  her  throbbing  head  back  upon  her 
pillow  to  wait  for  what  might  succeed.  The  steps  approached  ; 
her  bedroom  door  was  opened  noiselessly  ;  and  she  saw  the 
tall  form  of  a  man,  his  face  concealed  under  a  mask,  enter ; 
he  carried  in  his  hand  a  dark  lantern.  Her  only  hope  was  to 
be  quiet ;  so,  feigning  sleep,  she  lay  with  her  eyes  closed, 
and  breathed  heavily.  Now  and  then  she  uttered  some  un- 
intelligible words,  which  made  him  suppose  she  was  dream- 
ing. He  drew  near  the  bed,  lifted  the  lantern  close  to  her 
face,  and,  seeming  satisfied  that  she  was  unconscious  of  all 
around  her,  took  a  bottle  from  his  pocket,  and  sprinkled  its 
contents  over  the  bed-clothes. 

"  Now,"  he  hissed  between  his  teeth,  as  he  stood  gazing 
upon  her, ;t  when  I  have  finished  down-stairs,  Twill  comeback 


LOTTIE    ELLIS'S    PERIL.  97 

for  you.  I  love  you,  though  I  know  you  hate  me  ;  but  that 
will  make  no  difference  when  we  are  one.  The  sun  will  be 
shining  brightly  before  the  rest  will  awaken  ;  and  then  you 
and  I  will  have  left  Franklin  far  behind  us." 

Lottie's  terror  was  increasing.  She  almost  forgot  herself, 
and  would  have  screamed ;  but  she  had  no  power  to  do  so. 
She  felt  herself  losing  consciousness,  and  feared  that  he 
would  discover  her  deception  ;  if  he  did,  she  knew  he  would 
render  her  incapable  of  helping  herself  further.  He  did  not 
linger  long  over  her,  however,  as  he  had  other  business  to 
attend  to.  Picking  up  all  the  valuables  he  found  in  her 
room,  he  left  her,  closing  the  door  softty  behind  him. 

When  he  had  left  her,  Lottie  roused  herself,  staggered  to 
the  window,  which  she  opened  with  great  precaution,  and, 
after  inhaling  the  fresh  air,  felt  greatly  revived.  She  sat 
down  for  a  few  minutes  to  consider  what  she  would  do. 
While  she  was  thinking,  she  heard  him  packing  the  silver. 
Going  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  listened  attentively, 
but  could  detect  no  other  sound.  She  dared  not  venture 
further,  for  fear  of  being  discovered ;  so  she  stole  back  to 
her  room,  in  a  frenzy  of  terror.  She  sat  down  once  more  to 
collect  her  thoughts.  She  could  think  of  no  means  of  escap- 
ing the  terrible  fate  awaiting  her,  only  by  alarming  the  house- 
hold. There  was  no  way  of  doing  this  without  being 
detected  before  she  could  reach  even  one  of  the  rooms  sepa- 
rated from  her  own.  Suddenly  she  remembered  that  there 
was  a  narrow  passage  leading  from  her  apartment  to  that  of 
the  servants,  who  slept  right  over  the  kitchen.  She  reached 
them  without  being  heard  ;  but  could  not  awaken  them.  She 
stole  to  the  head  of  the  backstairs,  and,  leaning  over  the 
banisters,  saw  that  the  burglar  was  in  the  dining-room. 
There  was  no  opportunity  of  getting  around  to  the  front  of 
the  house,  unless  by  passing  the  very  room  in  which  the  rob- 
ber was  at  work. 

As  she  was  about  to  return,  determined  to  alarm  her  par- 
I 


98  LOTTIE    ELLIS'S    PERIL. 

ents  some  way,  the  door  opened  wider,  and  the  same  form 
that  had  stood  at  her  bod  side  appeared  in  the  entry.  Lottie 
would  have  fallen,  had  she  not  held  to  the  banisters  for  sup- 
port. In  her  fright,  she  thought  he  was  coming  to  the  spot 
where  she  was  concealed.  She  soon  discovered,  however, 
that  he  had  no  such  intention :  he  walked  to  the  front  door, 
opened  it  carefully,  passed  through,  and  closed  it  behind  him. 
In  a  few  moments  Lottie  heard  a  "  cuckoo,"  which  she  well 
knew  was  a  signal  for  help.  In  an  instant  she  was  down  the 
stairs,  and  had  the  door  bolted  upon  him.  Rushing  to  her 
father's  room,  she  threw  open  the  window  to  admit  the  air ; 
then,  going  through  the  house,  wildlj*  screamed,  "Fire,  fire, 
fire!" 

Guests,  servants,  and  all  were  soon  aroused,  seeking  means 
of  escape.  Meeting  Lottie  in  the  hall  she  quieted  their  fears 
by  relating  the  real  cause  of  alarm.  They  all  freelj*  forgave 
Lottie  the  fright  she  had  given  them,  and  complimented  her 
upon  her  wonderful  presence  of  mind.  Mr.  Ellis  insisted 
that  Lottie  was  mistaken  in  supposing  the  burglar  to  be  Mr. 
Jackson ;  not  until  his  room  had  been  searched,  and  no  trace 
of  him  found,  would  he  believe  in  his  guilt. 

Mr.  Jackson,  who  had  so  duped  Farmer  Ellis,  was  a  pro- 
fessional robber.  He  found  his  way  to  many  a  wealthy  family 
through  the  same  plan  he  had  adopted  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  farmer  and  his  family.  He  had  so  trained  his  horse 
that  he  could  bo  thrown  from  him  whenever  he  wished ;  then 
he  would  be  taken  into  the  nearest  house,  with  some  injury 
that  would  detain  him  a  few  days.  He  would  always  repay 
the  family  for  their  kindness  and  hospitality,  by  walking  off 
with  some  of  their  valuables. 

He  had  been  anxiously  waiting  for  this  occasion,  knowing 
there  would  bo  a  grand  display  of  silver,  and  it  would  give 
him  an  opportunity  to  enrich  himself.  He  had  it  all  packed, 
together  with  the  jewelry  he  had  stolen,  and  had  gone  out- 
side to  give  the  signal  to  his  three  companions,  who  were 


LOTTIE    ELLIS'S    1'KKIL.  99 

•waiting  for  it.  They  were  to  take  the  plunder  away,  while 
he  got  the  horse  and  carriage  ready  to  take  off  Lottie.  He 
had  a  strong  conviction  that,  if  he  proposed  to  Lottie,  she 
would  positively  refuse  him.  As  he  had  very  good  reasons 
to  know  that  she  disliked  him,  he  was  determined  to  take  her 
by  force.  He  had  drugged  every  one  in  the  house,  that  he 
might  execute  his  plans  in  safety ;  but  they  were  thwarted, 
as  he  found  when  he  turned  to  enter  the  house,  and  saw  the 
door  barred  against  him.  Cursing  his  ill-luck,  and  feeling 
that  some  one  must  have  been  watching  him,  he  and  his 
accomplices  made  good  their  escape. 

The  police  were  notified  of  the  attempted  robbery,  and  de- 
tectives were  sent  to  search  the  country.  Their  place  of  con- 
cealment was  discovered,  and  a  number  of  the  gang  arrested ; 
but  Jackson,  their  leader,  could  not  be  found. 

Thus  Lottie  Ellis  escaped  the  dreadful  fate  of  becoming  the 
wife  of  such  a  man. 


THE     «!(,(. Alt    ANI>     1HL 


THE  BEGGAR  AND  THE  BANKER. 


"  STAND  out  of  my  way  !  "  said  a  rough,  surly  voice  under 
my  window,  one  day,  as  I  sat  musing  over  the  bustling  scenes 
below  me,  at  my  lodgings  in  Chestnut  Street. 

"  Your  honor  will  please  to  recollect,"  replied  a  sharp  and 
somewhat  indignant  voice,  —  "your  honor  will  please  to 
recollect  that  I  am  a  beggar,  and  have  as  much  right  to  the 
road  as  yourself." 

"  And  I  am  a  banker,"  was  retorted,  still  more  gruffly  and 
angrily. 

Amused  at  this  strange  dialogue,  I  leaned  over  the  case- 
ment, and  beheld  a  couple  of  citizens  in  the  position  which 
a  pugilist  would  probably  denominate  "squared;"  their 
countenances  somewhat  menacing,  and  their  persons  present- 
ing a  contrast  at  once  ludicrous  and  instructive.  The  one 
was  a  purse-proud,  lordly-mannered  man,  apparelled  in  silk, 
and  protecting  a  carcass  of  nearly  the  circumference  of  a  hogs- 
head ;  and  the  other,  a  ragged  and  dirty,  but  equally  im- 
pudent and  self-important,  personage  ;  and,  from  a  compari- 
son of  their  countenances,  it  would  have  puzzled  the  most 
profound  M.  D.  to  determine  which  of  their  rotundities  wu.s 
best  stored,  habitually,  with  good  victuals  and  drink. 

Upon  a  close  observation,  however,  of  the  banker's  coun- 
tenance, I  discovered,  as  soon  almost  as  my  eye  fell  upon  it, 
a  line  bespeaking  humor  and  awakened  curiosity,  as  he  stood 
fixed  and  eying  his  antagonist ;  and  this  became  more  clear 


THE    1JEGGAH    AND    T1IE    BANKER.  101 

and  conspicuous,  when  he  lowered  his  tone,  and  asked, 
' '  How  will  you  make  the  '  right '  appear  ?  " 

"How?"  said  the  beggar;  "why,  listen  a  moment,  and 
I'll  teach  you.  In  the  first  place,  do  you  take  notice  that  God 
has  given  me  a  soul  and  body,  just  as  good  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  thinking,  eating,  drinking,  and  taking  my  pleasures, 
as  he  has  you, —  and  then  you  may  remember  Dives  and 
Lazarus,  just  as  we  pass.  Then,  again,  it  is  a  free  country, 
and  here,  too,  we  are  on  equal  footing ;  for  you  must  know 
that  here  even  a  beggar's  dog  may  look  a  gentleman  in  the 
face  with  as  much  indifference  as  he  would  a  brother.  I  and 
you  have  the  same  common  Master,  are  equally  free,  live 
equally  easy,  and  are  both  travelling  the  same  journey,  bound 
to  the  same  place,  and  both  have  to  die  and  be  buried  in  the 
end." 

" But,"  interrupted  the  banker,  "do  you  pretend  there  is 
no  difference  between  a  beggar  and  a  banker  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  rejoined  the  other,  with  the  utmost  readi- 
ness ;  "not  the  least  as  to  essentials.  You  swagger  and 
drink  wine,  in  company  of  your  own  choosing ;  I  swagger 
and  drink  beer,  which  I  like  better  than  your  wine,  in  com- 
pany that  I  like  better  than  your  company.  You  make 
thousands  a  daj',  perhaps  ;  I  make  a  shilling,  perhaps ;  if 
you  are  contented,  I  am ;  we  are  equally  happy  at  night. 
You  dress  in  new  clothes ;  I  am  just  as  comfortable  in  old 
ones,  and  have  no  trouble  in  keeping  them  from  soiling ; 
if  fewer  friends,  I  have  less  friendship  to  lose ;  and,  if  I 
do  not  make  a  great  figure  in  the  world,  I  make  as  great  a 
shadow  on  the  pavement ;  I  am  as  great  as  you.  Besides, 
my  word  for  it,  I  have  fewer  enemies,  meet  with  fewer  losses, 
carry  as  light  a  heart,  and  can  sing  as  many  songs  as  the 
best  of  you." 

"  And,  then,"  said  the  banker,  who  had  tried  all  along  to 
slip  in  a  word  edgeways,  "  is  the  contempt  of  the  world 
nothing?" 


102  THE  BEGGAK  AND  THE  BANKER. 

"The  envy  of  the  world  is  as  bad  as  its  contempt ;  you 
have  perhaps  the  one,  and  I  a  share  of  the  other.  We  are 
matched  there,  too.  And,  besides,  the  world  deals  in  this 
matter  equally  unjust  with  us  both.  You  and  I  live  by  our 
wits,  instead  of  living  by  our  industry ;  and  the  only  differ- 
ence between  us  in  this  particular  worth  mentioning  is,  that 
it  costs  society  more  to  maintain  j-ou  than  it  does  me  :  I  am 
content  with  a  little  ;  you  want  a  great  deal.  Neither  of  us 
raises  grain  or  potatoes,  weaves  cloth  or  manufactures  any- 
thing useful :  we  therefore  add  nothing  to  the  common  stock  ; 
we  are  only  consumers,  and,  if  the  world  judged  with  strict 
impartialit}',  it  seems  to  me  I  would  be  pronounced  the 
cleverest  fellow." 

Some  passers-by  here  interrupted  the  conversation.  The 
disputants  separated,  apparently  good  friends  ;  and  I  drew  in 
my  head,  ejaculating,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  Alexan- 
der in  the  play,  "Is  there  no  difference  between  a  beggar 
and  a  banker  ? " 

But  several  years  have  since  passed  away,  and  now  these 
individuals  have  paid  the  last  debt  of  nature.  They  died  as 
they  had  lived, — the  one  a  banker,  and  the  other  a  beggar.  I 
examined  both  their  graves  when  I  next  visited  the  city. 
They  were  of  similar  length  and  breadth ;  the  grass  grew 
equally  green  above  each  ;  and  the  sun  looked  down  as  pleas- 
antly on  the  one  as  on  the  other.  No  honors,  pleasures,  nor 
delights  clustered  around  the  grave  of  the  rich  man.  No 
linger  of  scorn  pointed  to  that  of  the  poor  man.  They  were 
both  equally  deserted,  lonely,  and  forgotten.  I  thought,  too, 
of  the  destinies  to  which  they  had  passed,  and  of  that 
state  in  which  temporal  distinctions  exist  not ;  where  pride, 
and  all  the  circumstances  which  surround  this  life,  never  find 
admittance.  Then  the  distinctions  of  the  world  appeared, 
indeed,  as  atoms  compared  with  those  that  are  made  in  that 
changeless  state  to  which  both  had  passed. 


PROPOSAL. 


A  GENTLEMAN  proposes  to  a  lady,  and  expatiates  his  love 
in  the  following  words  : — 

"  Thou  art  most  worthy  of  observation,  after  a  long  con- 
3ideration,  and  much  meditation  on  the  great  reputation  you 
possess  in  the  nation.  So  I  have  a  strong  inclination  to 
become  your  relation.  On  your  approbation  of  this  declara- 
tion I  will  make  preparation  to  remove  my  situation  to  a 
more  agreeable  station.  If  this  oblation  be  worthy  of  ob- 
servation, it  will  be  aggrandization,  beyond  all  calculation 
of  the  joy  and  exultation. 

"  I  am  yours, 

"  SANS  DISSIMULATION." 


THE  LADY'S  ANSWER  TO  THE  PROPOSAL. 
"  SIR, — I  perused  your  ovation  with  much  deliberation, 
and  a  little  consternation  at  the  great  infatuation  of  your 
weak  imagination  on  so  slight  a  foundation  ;  but,  after  con- 
templation and  serious  meditation,  I  suppose  your  animation 
is  the  fruit  of  recreation  that  sprung  from  ostentation  to 
show  your  education,  or  rather  multiplication,  by  an  odd 
enumeration  of  words  of  the  same  termination.  Now,  your 
laborious  occupation  deserves  commendation. 

"  I  am  yours,  without  hesitation, 

"MARY  MODERATION." 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


000  605  544     6 


